


Unrequited

by Alys_Brauer



Series: Reclaimed [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst, Brofurzone, M/M, One Sided Love, Other, and indecision, because Bofur can't make up his mind, but he wants Bilbo and Thorin to be happy too, but ultimately this is an alternate perspective to Bagginshield, everyone lives au, he wants to fight for Bilbo, honestly it's a lot of angst, in which Bofur is head over heels with Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:09:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 44,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3499640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alys_Brauer/pseuds/Alys_Brauer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing was ever as simple as it sounded.</p><p>Not that a trek across Middle Earth to steal treasure from a dragon who had sealed itself in a mountain had ever sounded simple. No one had ever said anything about battling orcs, battles for the fate of Erebor and all the lands that lay east of Mirkwood, or a hobbit that seemed far too adept at stealing heart without even realizing it.</p><p>(An AU Bofur perspective of Lindzzz's "Safe and Distant" and "Mahrana")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Safe and Distant](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2838050) by [Lindzzz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindzzz/pseuds/Lindzzz). 
  * Inspired by [Mahrâna](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3240779) by [Lindzzz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindzzz/pseuds/Lindzzz). 



> Thanks to the lovely Lindzzz for allowing, and encouraging, me to right this slight alteration to her wonderful "A Cultural Misunderstandin" series!

_Thorin Oakenshield had put out a call: it was time to take back the Lonely Mountain._

_The word had spread far and wide; there was no dwarf that had not at least heard of something in the offing. A great adventure; a noble quest; a chance to earn some coin; the foolishness of the line of Durin._

_It depended on who you asked really._

_Bofur had answered Thorin’s call and he’d led his brother and cousin along for the ride. There were not many that had come, but he was a tad surprised at some of those he saw sitting at the table. Fíli and Kíli (their mother must be ready to take Thorin’s ‘jewels’ over that), Balin (a fierce warrior if ever there was one, he’d been through just as much as Thorin, and more besides), Dwalin (no surprise there really, who’d go to challenge a dragon without the captain of the guard?), Oin (always good to have a healer and portent reader along on a grand quest such as this), Gloin (deep pockets that one, or so the rumours said), Ori, Dori, and Nori  (all good chaps, or so he had heard). He and his kin were the odd ones out at the gathering; all were descendants of Durin, some more distantly than others, except for them._

_Not that he was particularly bothered by that fact. It had never bothered him before, and there was no reason for it to bother him now. He was a dwarf of_ Ered Luin, _and Thorin had called for aid, not his kin._

_Now Thorin stood before them, his voice soft but earnest. He didn’t plead; Thorin Oakenshield would never lower himself to beg for help. He merely asked for their loyalty in a deep, earnest voice. A fierce light shone in his bright eyes as he told those gathered of his purpose._

_Bofur felt something stir in his chest. A fire he hadn’t known he possessed before. An ember of longing lit by Thorin’s straightforward words and his fierce desire to retake what had once been theirs._

_Silence fell in the room when Thorin paused and looked around to meet each of the twelve pairs of eyes that stared up at him. He felt that stirring again as Thorin met, and held, his eyes easily._ ‘I could die fer him, and gladly.’ _The thought struck Bofur suddenly. A feeling of loyalty that he had never known before flared to life. It may be for a home he had never known, but it was an adventure that called to him as strongly as Thorin’s voice._

_He was reminded forcefully that Thorin Oakenshield was his king; Thorin had been born to it and was meant for much greater things than what_ Ered Luin _held._

_“Well?” Piercing blue eyes moved over them again, searching each of their faces. “Are you with me?”_

_Silence reigned once more._

_Bofur coughed, bringing himself out of the spell that Thorin’s voice seemed to have placed on the room. Pulling his pipe out of his mouth, he cleared his throat. "Oh aye. Yeh sound madder than an elf with a squirrel in ‘is quiver, but we'll join yeh on yer quest. Halfway ‘cross Middle Earth right into the maws of the greatest calamity of our age and into certain death. Should be a simple thing to steal a bit of the hoard he’s guarded for centuries. Sounds like a grand old time. One question: how do we get in?"_

_A slow smirk spread across Thorin’s face, that intense light back in his eyes. “Burglary.”_

_~ * ~_

Nothing was ever as simple as it sounded.

Not that a trek across Middle Earth to steal treasure from a dragon who had sealed itself in a mountain had ever sounded simple, but there’d never been any mention of orcs, or battles for the fate of Erebor and all the lands that lay east of Mirkwood. But this- Bofur was fairly certain this had all come about because none of them, not even Balin, had quite reckoned on how stubborn and reckless the lads of Durin could be when it came to arch-nemeses.

Who even had arch-nemeses anyways - except for heroes in ballads?

The fighting was desperate. News of the trap on Ravenhill had spread quickly, and all who were able had gone to the aid of their king. Thorin Oakenshield had returned. After all that had happened within the Halls of Erebor it was the same dwarf who had stood before them in a dark room asking for them to pledge their loyalty who had asked for their faith one last time.. The same figure that none of them had hesitated to pledge their lives and service to once before. It had been a relief, but a short lived one it would seem.

The sight that greeted them as they reached the ruined fortress was worse than any could have imagined.

Out on the ice Bilbo knelt beside the far too still figure of Thorin. “No,” The word whispered past Bofur’s lips, a sentiment shared by all those that had scrambled to the top of the peak. “It’s not- not possible.”

His feet carried him forward, though he had no desire to get any closer. The others moved with him, he saw them out of the corners of his eyes, but his attention was fixed on the tableau at the edge of the ice.

Bilbo’s small body obscured most of Thorin’s, but all around them it was red. Bilbo knelt in a pool of blood; in Thorin’s blood. It couldn’t be. It just...couldn’t. Not Thorin. Not now, not after everything. They’d gotten through it all. Thorin had come back from the dragon sickness. Their king had returned. He couldn’t die now!

Not now.

Not now.

He could see it all clearly now, his feet had brought him further than he wished. Bilbo bent nearly double over Thorin, whispering to him desperately as the king’s blood spilled over shaking hands. “Don’t! Don’t you dare say goodbye to me Thorin Oakenshield!”

The desperate words cut Bofur to the quick. There was so much pain there-

If it had been him, if Bofur was the one lying there on the ice would Bilbo have sounded so broken?

No! No, that wasn’t fair. He wasn’t Thorin, how could he even think for a moment- But then, if it was him on the ice, at least then their king would be safe. Their king would be whole, and Bilbo wouldn’t sound like he was about to break apart.

“Don’t you dare say goodbye to me Thorin Oakenshield! Do you hear me? You’re not done here, you aren’t done. We aren’t done. Look at me Thorin, look at me. Keep breathing, just stay awake, and look at me.”

Bofur swallowed hard as Bilbo leaned down over Thorin. He shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be watching this. None of them should.

 Eagles screamed in the air as Bilbo begged, and the Company stood around the king and the burglar as silent witnesses. The hobbit pressed his forehead against Thorin’s, shaking hands still pressing on the wound in the king’s side.

His chest ached and he swallowed convulsively, trying to force the pain down and away. Bofur couldn’t take it anymore.

“Look at me,” Bilbo pleaded brokenly.

And Bofur looked away.

~ * ~

_There was nothing quite like a bath, warm, clean clothes, a good meal, and an endless supply of wine and ale to make a dwarf feel like he could finally relax. Bofur felt practically himself again. There were no stinking barrels, orcs, privies or the like in evidence. Their quest had regained some sort of sanity, and he was_ finally _enjoying the free ale that had been promised._

_He was sure it had been promised at some point._

_“This is more like it eh lads?” he grinned, twirling his beard as he took a long drought of his tankard. Fine food and fine company at last – even if the man who owned the house was less than desirable. “‘Oi Bilbo! Come sing us one of yehr songs!”_

_Someone kicked his leg. Glancing over at his brother, Bofur raised his brow. “Now what was that for?”_

_Bifur grunted something and gestured wildly over to the window._

_Well that was typical. Of course Bilbo had gone off on his own when he should be celebrating. He’d thought that the hobbit was well over his shyness by now. Opening his mouth to summon Bilbo once more, Bofur almost choked on his own words as Thorin appeared at the hobbit’s side._

_Ah yes. What had he been thinking? When was the last time Thorin had left Bilbo to himself for more than five minutes since the Carrack?_

_He shouldn’t watch. He shouldn’t- but he couldn’t look away either. Couldn’t stop himself from evaluating everything. The touch was light, but possessive as well. It had been getting progressively more-so ever since Thorin had finally acknowledged Bilbo. There was a difference between dwarven greetings, and what Thorin was up to with Bilbo. He wondered if Bilbo realised it, and then reminded himself it didn’t really matter because Bilbo was responding to the warmth that Thorin was exuding._

_ Someone should still tell him though. Let the poor lad know what he was getting in to. _

_They made a striking couple. It was impossible to ignore. Bofur watched as Thorin took a seat with Bilbo, falling into easy conversation. Too easy. It wasn’t fair! But of course it wasn’t. It was Thorin Oakenshield trying to woo Bilbo. Heir of Durin, King Under the Mountain, a great figure meant for great things. Who wouldn’t be drawn to him? What was Bofur compared to that? A miner, a toy maker. There was no hero’s blood flowing through his veins, he wasn’t even truly a warrior, though he’d learn to be one on this quest._

_Talk amongst the rest of the company began to shift. Knowing looks were exchanged, gestures toward their king and burglar who were smiling at each other like smitten lovers._

_It was a ballad come to life was what it was, and Bofur had no place in it._

_“Two gold pieces says he’s going to tell him tonight.” Kíli spoke up. Though the youngest of their company was pale, and seemed to be in pain, he still managed to smile and grin, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively._

_“Five says he waits until he has the arkenstone in hand.” Gloin rumbled, raising his tankard as he took the bet._

_“I’m with you brother. They’re making_ eyes _at each other,” Fíli chuckled, toasting Kíli with a nod and a gulp of ale._

_“Oh come off it lads, they’re jest talkin’,” Bofur scoffed._

_ Just talking. How many times had he and Bilbo sat alone talking and laughing. This was no different than that. No different. _

_His eyes were still trained on the two by the window. Thorin was laying himself completely bare before Bilbo, though Bofur doubted that Bilbo truly realized how much Thorin was opening up to him. For someone with such sharp eyes, Bilbo was surprisingly dense. It was what had made Thorin’s pursuit of him so amusing; up to this point at least._

_Twelve pairs of eyes turn toward the tableau before them. Silence nearly falling over the company as they watch their leader intently. It was actually almost embarrassing for them, seeing those private glances and smiles. Almost._

_It was only when Thorin turned his head that conversation started again. Overloud and exuberant to hide the fact that they had been openly spying. More bets were exchanged, even Bombur got in on the action. Bofur couldn’t bring himself to do it. Couldn’t make himself think about the inevitable that was unfolding in front of him._

_ How long could he actually let himself maintain his false hope? Hope that Bilbo would turn his eyes to him like that? With warmth practically spilling from their depths? Dreams of taking Bilbo’s hands in his own, holding them close as their eyes met and held-  _

_Bilbo’s hand rested so naturally on Thorin’s arm in show of support that was uncharacteristic of the hobbit. Either they had rubbed off on Bilbo, or he was finally acknowledging his own feelings. It was about time too. The pair of them had been beating around the bush long enough._

_ The only thing worse than knowing the one thing he wanted was out of his grasp, was watching the object of his affection dancing around his own feelings. The least they could do was get on with it so Bofur could be happy for Bilbo’s happiness. _

_It was almost as if the world decided it would turn a little slower as Thorin leaned toward Bilbo. Bofur swallowed hard, a lump rising in his throat and choking off his air._

_ No. No please no. Not now. He had hoped to have a little more time to delude himself. If they kissed now there would be no more of that. He just needed time; just a bit more time to pretend that he hadn’t seen how they kept gravitating together. _

_Mahal have mercy._

_Just as a dragon was drawn to gold, Thorin seemed drawn to Bilbo. They were close, so close. No. No no, please just this once- This was the end, this was the end of something that had never even begun. He’d been a fool and Thorin was- pressing their foreheads together. Bofur had been sure that Thorin was about to kiss Bilbo. But no, not now. The king and the burglar rested there for a moment. Thorin gazed down at Bilbo with_ such _a look, so much was contained in that simple glance that Bofur felt the weight of it and he wasn’t even the recipient._

_This was just as bad._

_Bofur was sure his heart stopped for a moment. He couldn’t seem to breathe. The squeezing in his chest was not natural, and he could not- Bilbo wasn’t reacting. He wasn’t spluttering like he should. There was no flustered flailing or demands for explanation of silly dwarvish sentimentality._

_There was simply acceptance._

_Turning away quickly, Bofur downed his nearly full tankard as his companions roared in approval. They’d seen it all too._

_He should be happy. Thorin had stopped dancing around the issue, and Bilbo was responding to his advances. How could he not? And Thorin deserved this, both of them did. A bit of happiness, true happiness. Of course Thorin was the one to receive the warmth that Bilbo could bestow upon him with just a glance. Bofur knew that warmth, though it was never for him to possess._

_Thorin Oakenshield could not be denied in any pursuit he chose. Weren’t they all evidence of that? Standing at the base of the lost home none had ever thought they would see again let alone reclaim? How could he fail in his quest for the hobbit who had been doing nothing but trying to prove himself since he had first run up to them that late morning a world and a lifetime away?_

_Filling his tankard, Bofur downed the mead right at the barrel before giving himself another. He caught Bombur looking at him with pity and understanding. His brother had been telling him since the Carrack it was best to give it up. Him, idiot that he was, had held out hope that maybe, just maybe, Bilbo wouldn’t feel the same way. Maybe Bilbo would be able to resist the draw of Thorin Oakenshield._

_He’d been a naive fool._

_A cheerful roar erupted as Thorin moved into their midst again, triumph in every line of his body._

_“Oi Thorin! Yer turn ta sing us a tale!” Bofur called out, passing Thorin a full tankard with a devilish grin. “Let us have a proper party! After all it may be our last!”_

_ And if Thorin stayed here with the Company, then Bofur wouldn’t have to watch him winning Bilbo over. _

_Laughs and grins met his proclamation. They’d come further than they had ever thought they could. The thought that they were to face a dragon tomorrow was forgotten in the wake of their accomplishments thus far. They all had cause to celebrate tonight._

_Only Bofur was selfish enough to mourn something that had never been._

_~ * ~_

He never did know when to quit for his own good. Bofur tried, but he just couldn’t keep his eyes off Bilbo. The Eagle gripped his middle uncomfortably; the wind stung at his eyes and tears obscured his vision. Yet the entire flight back to the gates of Erebor, Bofur kept Bilbo in his sight. He had to make sure that Bilbo was okay, and it was impossible to do it from this distance. Still, the image of the small figure still cradling his king was burned into Bofur’s mind.

While the flight was a relatively short one, the landing was not easy. Bofur’s mind was occupied by other things. He hardly noticed the bumpy landing. The jarring impact of his feet on uneven ground, the scrape of his knees as he stumbled at the impact and was pushed down once more by the force of the wind from the Eagles’ wings as they turned back to battle.

All of it barely registered.

“Bilbo,” Bofur croaked, scrambling to his feet once the pressure of the wind had abated. Other Eagles were landing, depositing their burdens and taking off again. “Bilbo-” Stumbling toward the still bent figure, his breath froze in his throat. He hadn’t moved, not a hairs breadth. But he hadn’t fallen over either.

Bofur wasn’t the only one to be scrambling toward the still figures by the gates of Erebor. All of them, all fourteen of the company, had been picked up by the Eagles, and now Bofur saw why. There were two other still forms on the ground. Kíli. Fíli. The names registered, but only distantly, all his attention was turned on the slightly shaking form of Bilbo Baggins clinging desperately to Thorin Oakenshield.

No words were spoken, but the remaining ten divided themselves up; three each to Fíli and Kíli, the remaining four to Thorin and Bilbo. They had to get them inside, safe, away from the slowly ending battle that was still too close for comfort.

“Bilbo?” Bofur tried to get the hobbit’s attention as Dwalin, Balin, and Oin knelt by Thorin and lifted him  carefully. The others were trying their best not to jostle Thorin, three pairs of wary eyes on the wound that shaking hands were trying desperately to hold closed.

“Here laddie,” Balin spoke softly, placing his hands over Bilbo’s. “We have him now.”

Bofur wasn’t sure if Bilbo was even aware of the soft sound he emitted as his hands are pushed gently away. Though he was quite positive that the pain in his chest when Bilbo reached for Thorin’s hand whispering ‘don’t leave me, don’t you dare leave me’ over and over was his heart completely crumbling to pieces.

Swallowing hard, Bofur helped the others to carry Thorin into the infirmary Oin had erected hastily when the rest of them had been building that infernal wall. He tried to block out Bilbo’s desperate pleas; tried hard not to see the hands that were still trembling, covered in Thorin’s blood; tried to ignore the pain in those eyes that should only ever be glowing with warmth.

Somehow they managed to get Thorin into bed without disturbing Bilbo at all. Oin set to work, issuing orders calmly as he pulled at cloth to reveal the wounds draining Thorin of his life. Bofur turned his own attention to Bilbo. He’d been wounded, but typical hobbit, he was more concerned with others.

“All right Bilbo,” Bofur said softly as the others worked to wash and sew Thorin’s wound. “I’m just going ta clean yeh up a bit.” There was no recognition, no indication that Bilbo was aware of anything else besides Thorin. “Jest stay still now. Looks like yeh got hit pretty good on yehr head here.”

Keeping up a constant stream of conversation that he knew Bilbo would not respond to, Bofur set about taking care of his friend. He would only get in the way with Thorin - three sets of experienced hands were more than enough for the king. His own, slightly clumsy hands, would have to do for Bilbo.

First was the head wound, which Bofur cleaned carefully, blood and grime wiped away with a cloth and gentle hands. “Yeh were mouthin’ off to an orc weren’t yeh?” Bofur asked, trying to get some reaction, any reaction. “That’s going ta get yeh into some real trouble one day yeh know. Can’t just go mouthin’ off to orcs and goblins, they’re liable ta smash yer head in. Just ask Bifur, he’ll tell yeh. All right now, yeh don’t have ta let go of Thorin completely, but I’m going ta jest wash yer hands.” They were sticky with blood.

No one had ever expected Bilbo to truly see battle. Now he was covered in blood.

Bilbo should never have blood on his hands.

Thankfully most of the blood was not his own. Moving carefully, Bofur managed to get Bilbo to release one hand from where he clung tightly to Thorin. Wiping the king’s blood from the still trembling fingers, Bofur swallowed hard as he guided the clean hand back and then took the other and repeated the procedure.

Bilbo hadn’t moved at all.

Bofur glanced over to Thorin, his chest constricting again. It didn’t look good; it didn’t look good at all.

It seemed like ages passed before Oin finally sat back, nodding to Balin who took a bowl of herbs that had been mixed earlier, laying them against the wound while Oin carefully wrapped Thorin’s abdomen in a layer of thick white bandages.

“There’s nothing more I can do for him now,” Oin said to the room.

No one knew how to respond. The old healer pulled himself to his feet, off to tend to the other Durins’ wounds. Balin and Dwalin followed after. “Bofur,” Balin called back to the other dwarf. “Let them be laddie. There’s work yet to be done.”

He knew that. Of course he knew that! He realized that there’s nothing more he can do here. He can’t make this right. Only Thorin can make it right. Only Thorin can dispel that hollow look in Bilbo’s eyes as the hobbit continued to cling to Thorin’s pale hand and stare intently at his face, as if his will alone were holding Thorin to the land of the living.

What was worse was the realization that it probably was.

As much as he wanted to, Bofur knew that he was helpless to help either Bilbo or Thorin, and he couldn’t stand to watch this.

“Right yeh are,” Bofur said shakily, coughing to hide the break in his voice. “We’re not out of the mines yet.” He turned his back on Thorin and Bilbo, telling himself sternly that there was nothing left of his heart to break. He'd known since Laketown that Bilbo was so far beyond his reach he may as well be in the depths of Moria.

Even so his chest ached as he closed the door behind him.

~ * ~

_He'd lost track of his ale a long time ago. It wasn't about celebrating anymore. It wasn't about keeping up with, or out-drinking, the others. He wanted to lose track of more than just his ale, more than time. He wanted to forget, even if it was just for a moment, forget that Bilbo had not left Thorin’s side since he’d come away from the window. Nor did it seem like Thorin was about to relinquish his hobbit-crutch anytime soon._

_ It wasn’t fair.  _

_Bofur had been rehashing the same argument in his mind for months now. It wasn’t fair, and yet it was understandable. Beyond understandable. Watching the two of them, Thorin covering Bilbo with drunken praises and compliments, it was clear that they were inevitable._

_Inevitable._

_Bofur snorted at his own thoughts. Of course that would apply to Thorin. Once again he was struck by the realization that Thorin Oakenshield may as well have walked out of legend; that he and Bilbo belonged in some soppy love ballad about soulmates and fate._

_Who decided fate anyway? Who was to say that he couldn’t make his own fate? Or take Thorin’s fate from him?_

_ That was the ale talking. Thorin was his king he would never betray him, never try to take from him the love that he so sorely deserved. _

_**Nothing was set in stone yet! If he just reached out his hand he could take his own happiness.**_

_Bofur gulped down the last of his drink. He’d made up his mind. The noise of his companions dimmed to a dull buzzing between his ears as he swayed on his feet – though he managed to keep them under him. Thorin was his king, yes, he had pledged his life and loyalty to him, and he didn’t regret that. But nowhere, never, had he pledged to give up on his own heart for Thorin Oakenshield._

_He could make Bilbo laugh. He could make Bilbo smile. Besides that, they were probably all going to die tomorrow storming a dragon’s mountain. What did he have to lose really?_

_Self respect. The respect of the Company. Thorin’s trust and respect. Bilbo’s friendship…_

_Nothing at all. There was nothing to lose- or wait was it everything? It was a little hard to keep things straight at the moment-_

_Bombur tugged on his pants, staring up at Bofur in confusion. “I’m- I’m goin’ t’talk ta Bilbo,” Bofur slurred in the approximation of a grand proclamation. “We might all die tomorrow, and- I should- I should be honest with him.”_

_His brother’s eyes widened and he shook his head. Oh he knew what Bombur was thinking. Something along the lines of a bad idea- There was a pointed look to the window where just an hour before Thorin and Bilbo had been acting out a scene from a love ballad._

_But that didn’t_ mean _anything. Not really. He just had to make Bilbo realize-_

_“Jes make ‘im realize,” he repeated out loud with a dizzy, dazed grin. If he kissed him. Kissed Bilbo, full on the mouth, no dancing around the issue. Just grabbed him up, swept him away from Thorin and into his arms, dipped him and_ kissed _him! They were in a tale right? Legends in the making. If he did that, if he kissed Bilbo, surely Mahal would smile on him. There would be magic,_ true _magic. Magic enough that Bilbo would realize that he, that_ Bofur _, could make him just as happy as Thorin Oakenshield._

_Okay, so he didn’t have a mountain filled with gold, or a noble bearing, or the ability to lead, and make people want to follow him; wasn’t blessed with enough charisma to charm an entire town of angry fishermen but- But he could still offer Bilbo things. He made Bilbo laugh after all! What did Thorin do? He just looked down on Bilbo and made him mad all the bloody time! How was that fair to Bilbo?_

_It wasn’t!_

_Right, all he had to do was get to Bilbo and it would all be-_

_**Too late.** _

_It would all be too late._

_As he finally forced his eyes to focus, squinting across the dim smoky light in the room, Bofur saw Thorin swaying by the steps to the upper rooms with Bilbo. The hobbit supported the drunken king and led him up the stairs to the room and beds above._

_He’d waited too long. He’d never truly had a chance anyway, not against Thorin. “Aye Bilbo! Give ‘im ‘ell!” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. The Company jeered agreements._

_Everyone else had known that it was inevitable as well. It seemed Thorin had finally decided to stop dancing around the bush. A good thing too! It had already passed the point of being embarrassing. Far surpassed really. This- This was for the best._

_“To our king finally coming into his own!” Fili shouted, raising his tankard above his head._

_“To him finally ‘_ gettin _’ his own!” Gloin joined in with a suggestive wink and knowing chuckle._

_A chorus of cheers rose around him, and Bofur’s voice joined in the toast. Faintly, in the silence that fell as the dwarves drank their full tankards, there was a muffled thump and a yelp from up the stairs._

_“Thorin! Thorin let me go!”_

_Grins passed around the group. He joined in, though the expression didn’t reach his eyes._

_There was nothing to be grinning about._

_Pouring himself another ale, Bofur jumped onto the nearest table with a loud shout and a grin. “Hey there lads!”_

_** Loud! ** _

_They’re usually so loud! Why had everyone fallen silent now? Now of all times. “Is this a party or a funeral eh?” Raising his tankard, he took another sip, and then launched into one of the old dwarven songs - he couldn’t even think about singing one of the ones Bilbo had taught them._

The world was young, the mountains green,  
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,  
No words were laid on stream or stone,  
When Durin woke and walked alone.*

_The Company cheered and joined in._

He named the nameless hills and dells;  
He drank from yet untasted wells;  
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,  
And saw a crown of stars appear,  
As gems upon a silver thread,  
Above the shadow of his head.*

_The songs and drinking continued, though one by one the other dwarves began to go to bed. He couldn’t even think about sleeping._

_Not yet. Not yet._

_There had been silence up the stairs for a while now, the others deeming it safe enough to go on up to the beds that the Master had provided. Bofur couldn’t bring himself to go near those stairs._

_Just the thought of seeing Thorin and Bilbo sharing the same bed- He couldn’t. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Thorin and Bilbo cuddling before...but at least on the road he had been able to curl up on the other side of the hobbit, taking advantage of the warmth that Bilbo gave off._

_Now he would have no choice but to see, and be able to do nothing about it. Far preferable that he stay down here, finishing off the free wine so graciously provided by their hosts._

_Sinking to the floor, goblet still in hand, Bofur took another swig, singing softly to himself._

Ho! Ho! Ho! to the bottle I go  
To heal my heart and drown my woe.  
Rain may fall and wind may blow,  
And many miles be still to go,  
But under a tall tree I will lie,  
And let the clouds go sailing by.*

_Bofur let the fuzzy darkness cover his vision; sweet relief at last from his own thoughts, imaginings, and heart_ _._

~ * ~

 Days passed.

Oin had given monitoring Thorin to Bofur. “Since you seem to have more time on your hands,” the old healer said with a knowing look. “You’re in there far more than me anyway. Make sure that Bilbo rests and eats won’t you? He’s looking…thin.”

Bofur had already noticed that. It was worrying to watch Bilbo just stare at Thorin, holding onto the king’s hand, all his focus bent on the figure in the bed. Half the time the food left for him was untouched. Other times it was picked at, but the trays were never empty. Bofur hadn’t thought that hobbits could survive on that little food. Indeed, it was a little like watching Bilbo waste away in front of him along with Thorin.

What would it be like - he couldn’t help but wonder - if it was him in that bed? Would Bilbo stay by his side as well? Holding his hand, rubbing his soft thumb over the back of it, willing him to open his eyes-

Thorin was lucky to be so loved. Bilbo was fortunate to be so cherished. If it couldn’t be him, then only Thorin was good enough for Bilbo; he deserved that much, and far, far more.

“I never thought he might die.” The voice was soft, hardly more than a whisper.

Bofur stared at Bilbo in shock. Had he actually- He’d said something!

“Never thought it was possible, he’s just...bigger than that.”

Carefully, Bofur took a seat next to Bilbo, keeping the tray on his lap now. He was almost scared to talk; he didn’t say anything for fear of frightening the hobbit back into the hole in his mind where he had been hiding for the past few days.

“I saw him up there, I know it was him again, that he got through this sickness because of course he did. But if he dies...after all this…” Bilbo’s voice choked a little before he shook it off, trying to pretend he was fine with a watery laugh.

Bofur wanted to reach out and reassure Bilbo, hold him close and tell him it was okay; to let it all out.

“Well, let’s just say I’ll be pretty cross with him. I don’t care if he never speaks to me for what I did. I don’t care if I’m banished and never see him again...as long as he’s at least alive…As long as he’s somewhere in this world. I think I can manage all right if there’s that at the very least.”

Bofur smiled slightly. He didn’t realize- Bilbo didn’t realize at all. “He wouldn’t dare leave yeh here all alone.” He spoke up at last, his voice breaking a little, though Bilbo didn’t seem to notice. Finally Bilbo had spoken, finally he gave an indication that he was aware of his surroundings, and of course the first thing he said was about Thorin.

He couldn’t stand this. Thorin was hardly out of the woods; his king could still die. Bofur feared that the uncertainty was wearing Bilbo away.

He couldn’t stand to see his king, and friend, looking like a ghost in this bed. Couldn’t bear to see what it was doing to Bilbo, to the entire Company. Would he have to watch Bilbo fade to nothing if Thorin lost his battle with the fever raging through him?

At last Bilbo turned his head, tilting it slightly to look up at Bofur. His eyes shone slightly with unshed tears. The hobbit wiped at them, sniffing with that half laugh as he forced a shaky smile to his lips. “I’ve been a bit of a cad haven’t I? I’m sorry Bofur, thank you for being here…”

Bofur shook his head, returning the half-hearted smile. Of course he would be here. Where else would he be? But that wasn’t what Bilbo wanted, or needed, to hear. “Yeh know he’ll come back; if nothin’ else then just ta piss off everyone who said he couldn’t.”

That got another shaky laugh and something closer to a true smile.

His heart cracked a little more. There he was- There was his Bilbo, smiling at the thought of Thorin returning to them.

“Yes, yes I suppose you’re right there.”

“Of course I am,” Bofur drew himself up. “And I’ll tell yeh what else I’m right about. Yeh need ta eat, and sleep. Here, Bombur’s getting worried.”

He watched as Bilbo picked at the food. This time he didn’t leave until it was all gone, and most of the tea as well - he’d gotten Oin to mix another sleeping draught for the hobbit. Gathering up the dishes, he set the tray aside as Bilbo’s eyes began to close.

“A little rest will do yeh good,” he said softly, gathering a blanket and draping it lightly over Bilbo’s shoulders.

Bilbo murmured something sleepily that Bofur didn’t quite catch, but it didn’t matter.

Stepping back, Bofur smiled at the scene. As much as he hated to admit it, Bilbo was right where he belonged: at Thorin’s side.


	2. Chapter 2

_It had been discovered by Fíli and Kíli that hobbits, or at least Bilbo, were incredibly warm beings. With autumn fading and the ground becoming far more uncomfortable with the cold, the Company had welcomed this delightful news in typical dwarvish fashion: with open arms and great eagerness to ignore personal boundaries. In fact, it had evolved into a contest to see who could get their bedroll closest to Bilbo to receive the most benefit from his warmth._

_Fortunately for Bofur, he’d already had a spot by Bilbo before the ‘discovery’ and he’d managed to keep it for the most part. Sometimes one or another of the company would worm their way in closer to Bilbo, but he was always able to reclaim his spot at the hobbit’s back when the watch changed.  He was quite grateful for the discovery - any excuse he could use to get closer to Bilbo was a welcome one._

_For those first nights Bofur had never slept better. Nestled against Bilbo’s warmth, surrounded by the soft scent of growing things and the earthy scent of his favourite tobacco, Bofur had the sweetest dreams. Waking up in the morning, Bilbo was the first one he saw, and it always made the rest of the day seem bearable, even if that meant more shameless flirting from the pair of idiots. At least he knew, come time for sleep, he would be nestled next to Bilbo. Thorin was the only one not to make use of their hobbit-y heater._

_It was, of course, an ongoing joke amongst the Company precisely_ why _Thorin didn’t join them - and the popular theory certainly wasn’t so their king could keep his dignity._

_After Fíli’s 'attempt' to get Thorin to join in on the hobbit pile, and their leader's subsequent and expected refusal to do any such thing, the Company had taken that as unspoken permission to gossip about the reason why to their hearts content. By this point everyone knew. It was actually impossible for anyone, at least anyone familiar with dwarf mannerisms, to miss the fact that Thorin Oakenshield was ridiculously in love with their burglar._

_"Course he doesn't want ta join us. Our mighty leader wouldn't want ta do anything that could possibly be thought of as not 'brooding' appropriately," Bofur chuckled to the others as they gathered around the fire one night. Thorin, as was usual for their great leader, was standing just out of earshot beyond the circle of fire. It was entirely likely, or rather practically guaranteed, that he had gone to seek out Bilbo on his watch._

_Bombur shot him a look that clearly told Bofur that he was being anything but subtle, but the rest of the company roared in either agreement or disapproval._

_Let the gossip commence._

_"It certainly would be tantamount to a tipping point," Balin pointed out reasonably. "There's only so much denial that lad can take."_

_"More likely he's wary to wake with a kingly arousal," Dwalin grinned._

_"Don't think even our burglar could deny the_ point _of that," Nori snickered._

_"Oi watch yer mouth!" Dori shouted, covering Ori's ears as he glared at Dwalin and his other brother. "It's no fit conversation to be having about our leader."_

_"What was that?" Oin tilted his crumpled ear trumpet toward the conversation. "Are we having talk about how Thorin looks at our hobbit?"_

_Fíli and Kíli quickly shushed the half deaf healer, not wanting their talk to reach Thorin's ears. They'd seen how well that worked; not a lick._

_"Why doesn't he just say something?" Ori asked, turning his head so Dori's hands fell from his ears. "Bilbo's a nice chap. I wouldn't mind him being consort."_

_"The problem there is," Bofur spoke up despite the discomfort those words brought. It was true, Bilbo wild probably make a great consort, he'd keep Thorin in check the way none who had known Thorin as Heir of Durin for a lifetime ever could. "That our hobbit is denser than an untouched coal mine, and not likely to clue in to our king's affections until Thorin shoves a hand down his trousers and spells it out in the plainest Westron available."_

_ Thank Mahal for that. _

_While Thorin was not a subtle dwarf, Bilbo seemed curiously blind to his affections, and Thorin was too noble to make a move before the quest was done. Bofur had no intention of enlightening his friend to the situation at hand, that was just asking far too much of him. It was one thing to watch this love tale unfold, it was quite another to actively encourage it. His poor heart couldn't take it._

_Fortunately Fíli and Kíli were cowed, for the moment - it didn't hurt that they found it more amusing to watch their uncle muddle along than if the air were cleared. None of the others were willing to cross Thorin on this matter - though more than one of them had thought about doing something more than once._

_There was only so much awkward courtship a dwarf could take without feeling the need to put the romantic idiots out of their misery. It just hadn't reached that point with the Company yet._

_"Aye. It'd make life a whole lot simpler for us all if the king just bedded the burglar already."_

_At least not yet - though if Dwalin was saying_ that _it was becoming a near thing._

_"Why hasn't he then?" Ori asked curiously. "I know Bilbo isn't like a dwarf, but I think he's quite comely, in a hobbit type way."_

_"Ori!" Dori looked at his brother in shock._

_"Tell me I'm wrong then," Ori crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly._

_"Well-" Dori paused in thought. "He does have quite good taste in wine."_

_"He's quite talented at sneaking too," Nori chimed in thoughtfully. "Bet he knows a couple tricks that he hasn't revealed yet."_

_"Tricks of burglary? Or tricks beneath the sheets?" Gloin asked with a loud laugh and lascivious grin._

_Bifur made a comment in Iglishmek that had them all roaring in laughter._

_Bofur's voice joined the rest, but inwardly he was uneasy. There was so much more to Bilbo than just what his companions had mentioned. He was a fierce little thing, loyal practically to a fault. He'd shown more courage than them all combined precisely because he had more to fear than the rest. Did they not realize that what Thorin was attracted to was far more than physical appearance or Bilbo’s taste in food?_

_There was so much to love about Bilbo Baggins, and most of it had nothing to do with notions of what he could do between the sheets._

_"Not enough facial hair for me," Kíli spoke up with a cough and a shrug as the laughter died._

_“I don’t think it’s his lack of hair on his face that’s got your gaze turning aside.” Dwalin grinned. “More like the lack of anything on his chest.”_ _This set up a new round of laughter and pointed comments about elf 'maids', and maids in general. Kíli tried to hide his blush, attempting to defend himself against the good natured teasing.  Much to Bofur’s relief, this effectively ended the conversation about Bilbo._

_Dwelling too much on the hobbit, and Thorin's attraction to him_ _, always made Bofur uneasy. He knew there was relatively little cause for him to hope that Bilbo wouldn't return Thorin's affections once he made them plain for a hobbit. Who could honestly resist Thorin Oakenshield? Bofur certainly hadn't been able to, and Thorin asked_ him _to accept his heart._

_Logic was all well and good, but it had never particularly been Bofur’s strong suit. It was extremely hard to hold on to in the face of emotions. Usually he was a positive dwarf, but he couldn’t help the stab of pain and jealousy whenever he saw Bilbo drifting more and more toward Thorin._

_Like the night that instead of setting up his bedroll first, Bilbo went over to Thorin, bedroll in hand, and an apologetic look on his face._

_He supposed that when you had a thick burglar and a dense king, it was only a matter of time until something gave way._

_ That didn’t make it any easier to watch. _

_Thorin’s look of complete and utter horror helped a little, as well as the fact that Bilbo remained completely unaware as to the effect he had on their company leader._

_The snickers started first. If Thorin’s eyes went any wider, Bofur was nearly positive that they would pop out of his head. Someone elbowed him in the arm, bringing him back to the knowing grins and nods of the dwarves in their company._

_Fíli was wiggling his eyebrows suggestively while Kíli snickered at his side. Ori was trying to peek around Bombur even as Dori tried to keep him from seeing - though nothing explicit was actually happening. Balin and Dwalin were exchanging knowing looks, while Gloin just shook his head sadly._

_“I was never that nervous with my Gamli,” Gloin said with obvious pride, his chest puffing out. “Why, as soon as I knew she was for me-”_

_“Oh shut it Gloin, we know,” Nori rolled his eyes, shaking his head at the only non-bachelor in their little group. “You tell us almost every night.”_

_“Well_ I _bet ten coins that tonight’s the night that Thorin confesses,” Ori said seriously. “It’s perfect! Firelight and a full moon, sleeping side by side. It’s so romantic,” he sighed wistfully._

_“Shhhh,” Dori quickly clamped a hand over his brother’s mouth. “We don’t want no one hearin’ that sort of talk.”_

_Fíli and Kíli couldn’t hold it in anymore. They burst out laughing, holding their sides and only managing to stay upright by leaning against each other._

_“What? What?” Ori asked defensively, pulling Dori’s hand away from his mouth._

_“D-Did you see?” Fíli managed to gasp._

_“The look of panic in his eyes?” Kíli finished._

_Twelve pairs of eyes watched as Bilbo matter-of-factly laid out his bedroll and began to strip down to his last shirt and just his trousers._

_“It looks like he can’t decide between stabbing him and jumping him,” Dwalin noted, clearly amused as he crossed his arms over his chest. He sent a look to his brother that asked just what they were going to do with the love-sick fool._

_“Our grand king,” Bofur shook his head, drawn into the conversation almost despite himself. “Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, slayer of orcs, survivor of Smaug, rebuilder of Belgarast, grand warrior: terrified of a hobbit.”_

_At least it wasn’t hard to make jokes at Thorin’s expense; especially when they were well deserved. Not that he_ wanted _Thorin to make himself clear to Bilbo, but it would probably make all their lives easier. Who knew, it might even make him give up his foolish notion that Bilbo would ever return his feelings._

_Fíli and Kíli still hadn’t managed to pull themselves together, cackling together off to the side. Every time one of them would recover, they would look at the other, and fall back into a laughing fit. Balin shook his head at their foolishness. “Don’t you lads have a watch to attend to?” he asked with a raised brow and a pointed look at their youngest members._

_Snorting, the boys nodded and managed to somewhat pull themselves together. Of course, when they looked over their shoulders as they went off to their watch post they couldn’t help bursting into laughter at the sight of their uncle lying rigid on the ground, his back very pointedly to Bilbo. Bofur couldn’t blame them; he started to laugh as well._

_Thorin might be head over heels for Bilbo, but if he kept acting like this, there was no way Bilbo would ever realize it, or return his feelings. It made him feel immensely satisfied. That is until Bombur sent him a look and a serious shake of his head. “What?” he asked defensively as the rest of the Company went to set up their own bedrolls. “Oh come on, yeh can’t tell me that’s not amusing.”_

_Bifur gestured in Iglishmek, and he had the grace to look a little repentant. “All right all right. I’ll try ta contain my amusement.” He sighed. “I know I know, you don’t have ta tell me twice.” He waved off the beginning of his cousin’s lecture. He knew quite well that he didn’t stand a chance against Thorin Oakenshield._

_Of course Bilbo’s lack of open return of affection hadn’t stopped with Thorin falling stupidly, madly, in love with the hobbit. That…Bofur could_ almost _handle that. He couldn’t handle the flirting nearly as well. His one small consolation that Bilbo hadn’t confided in him that he felt anything for Thorin. As long as things stayed that way he was sure he could keep his feelings to himself._

_He was not prepared for what the dawn brought._

_Bofur knew he shouldn’t be watching. Despite the tightness in his chest, and the way his breath seemed to stick in his throat, he couldn’t seem to look away. His watch was done, had ended at least twenty minutes ago- but he seemed to be frozen in place. The scene he had walked up on was the last thing he had expected._

_Thorin lay curled up around Bilbo, his head resting on the hobbit’s chest, his arms wrapped firmly around Bilbo’s waist. That wasn’t expected. It really had only been a matter of time. There would be some arguing once they began their travels on whether or not Ori had won his bet. Something sure had happened in the night, Thorin had made a move, even if he wasn’t conscious of it. _

_That didn’t matter though. Bofur had gotten, reluctantly, use to the way Thorin looked at Bilbo. What kept him in place, what truly broke his heart, was the sudden realization that everything Thorin felt for Bilbo was returned by the hobbit. It crashed over him, with every painful beat of his heart, with every moment that passed without the image before him changing, Bofur knew. He knew that Bilbo would never look at him the same way he looked at Thorin in that moment; peace in his eyes, a tender smile on his lips as he slowly stroked Thorin’s hair._

_If there had been doubt before it was gone now._

_Bofur is indescribably relieved when Fíli interrupts the little scene. He had been held positively frozen, unable to force himself to move or do anything. If he’d had control of his limbs he would have disturbed the far too poetic scene much earlier – Sbut he’d been captivated by that look in Bilbo’s eyes, that tender smile that he wanted to hold on to forever but that didn’t belong to himS. With Fíli’s interference, Bofur could move again._

_Entering the camp at last, he tried his best to stroll idly over to the group that had gathered around the king and his burglar. “Jes’ look at ‘im! Like a wee babe with ‘is toy. Absolutely adorable.”  Hiding behind jokes and banters made it easier to face…well a little easier at least._

_At Bilbo’s rebuke, Bofur smirked with a cheeky shrug of his shoulders. He actually had no doubt that Thorin was probably already awake, no warrior would be able to sleep through the commotion around him._

_Dwalin joined the group growing around the pair. The look on the old guard’s face was one of amusement and pure exasperation. His comment, like the rest of theirs, was not gracefully accepted by the hobbit. Bilbo made a face at them all, clearly conveying his annoyance at them all that they couldn’t let a single opportunity to tease go to waste._

_When Bilbo calls him out, Thorin finally gives in, admitting what most of them had already guessed. The speed at which their leader released Bilbo might have eased Bofur’s heart a little, if he hadn’t noticed the shift in Bilbo’s expression. It wasn’t much, just a slight dimming in his eyes as his hands fell to his now empty lap._

_Yes, there was certainly no doubt about it now._

_Just as Bofur thought that things would return to the tenuous equilibrium of the night before, Thorin withdrawing into his kingly stiffness, Bilbo and Thorin’s eyes met._

_Oh he recognizes that look in Thorin’s eyes, could guess at the thoughts whirling through his king’s mind. This was it, this was the breaking point._

Despite the audience they had collected, Thorin leaned forward. Bofur wanted to look away, to say something, to interrupt. He couldn’t bear to watch this happen. Reaching out, Thorin gently laid a hand on Bilbo’s cheek, cupping it in a warm gesture.

Bilbo’s eyes widened slightly, his mouth falling open to begin a stammered demand for an explanation. “Thorin? What do you think you’re do-”

Now that Thorin had finally given in, there was no stopping the force of the pull between them. Tilting his head slightly, Thorin pressed close, fitting his lips over Bilbo’s, stopping all noises from the hobbit.

There is a moment of complete silence, no one dares say anything that might possibly interrupt the scene unfolding before their almost disbelieving eyes. Thorin had finally done it. After months of dancing around the issue, he’d finally made the first move. All eyes focused on Bilbo, waiting to see his reaction.

Bilbo’s hands flutter at his side for a moment, his eyes widening. Then everything softens. Bilbo’s hands drop once more, his eyes falling closed as he pressed forward into the kiss.

They made the perfect pair. Bilbo was in love with Thorin. Thorin had given his heart to Bilbo. They were bound as surely as if they had just said their marriage vows.

_Bofur coughed, interrupting his own horrified fantasy and causing Thorin to pull back almost as if he had been burned, muttering more apologies under his breath. Bilbo only looked amused, standing himself and shooing the rest of them back to their own responsibilities._

_In that moment it was inescapable. In that single instant it had all became crystal clear: friendship was all that would ever be between him and the burglar who had well and truly made away with his heart._

~ * ~

 

Something was wrong. It wasn’t in the usual ‘Thorin was dying and Bilbo was wasting away while watching him die’ sort of way either. That Bofur understood. No, this was different, and it didn’t make a lick of sense.

No one had seen Bilbo in days.

He had gone to Thorin’s room as usual. A tray of food and a selection of books from the old library they’d managed to find for Bilbo. He’d taken to leaving books on dwarf history and customs for Bilbo to read while he was holding vigil over Thorin. After all if the king survived Bilbo would have to learn it all to be a proper consort.

It had become easier for Bofur when it was made official. While the actual proposal had sat ill with him, he’d known it was going to happen eventually anyway. This way- This way he knew for sure and could be happy for Bilbo.

The problem was that when he had entered the room, there had been no sign of Bilbo. The blankets on Thorin’s bed were wrinkled, and the king’s breathing seemed to have eased a bit at least. But there was no sign of the hafling. Alarm shot through him, and he almost dropped his tray at the sudden, irrational fear the coursed through him. Bilbo hadn’t left Thorin’s side since they had come in off the ice. Had something happened? Had he been hurt? Had one of their enemies found a way into Erebor and- And he was being a fool.

Bilbo had probably gone off to the bathroom that was all. There was no need to fear, it was simply a case of bad timing.

He might have continued to believe it to be simply bad timing had the problem not persisted for the next few days. Bofur had returned to pick up the tray and bring a fresh one, only to find that Bilbo was not in the room. In fact, it looked like he hadn’t even touched the food that had been left for him.

Not this again.

They dwarves had discovered on the journey that hobbits required much more frequent feeding than dwarves. Apparently part of the reason that Bilbo was so warm was because his body used up all the food he ate exceptionally quickly (at least for dwarf standards). It was part of the reason why he had been so concerned when Bilbo had stopped touching food all together in those first days after Raven Hill.

There had to be a reason for this. There was always a reason. It was just sometimes harder to figure out with Bilbo than with others.

He tried to look for Bilbo. When that had proved useless he had enlisted the help of The Company.  Those that could still walk with ease split into teams, searching the dark, dusty corridors of the long abandoned city. No one had had any luck.

There were glimpses. Only glimpses though, and it was hard to tell for certain. Erebor wasn’t exactly in the best of conditions. The only light they had were flickering torches that seemed to cast more shadows than they chased away. The figure turning that corner, or ducking into a side passage at the sound of footsteps could just as easily be a ghost from the past, a dancing shadow, as their missing burglar.

Something was definitely wrong.

There was only one thing for it. If Bilbo was wandering the halls of Erebor, than he would eventually get hungry. Bofur could be patient, if the occasion called for it.

Right now the occasion definitely called for it.

He knew the others agreed with him, none of them could stand the thought of Bilbo fretting himself away to nothing in the abandoned halls. So Bofur set himself up by the smouldering fire in the kitchens they had managed to restore to some semblance of working order. Bofur hadn’t told anyone of his plans. He knew the rest of them were busy, and he was too, but there were some things he was willing to sacrifice for the sake of love friendship, and sleep was one of them.

Propping his legs up on an old stool, Bofur puffed on his pipe as he whittled idly, waiting patiently for any sign of Bilbo. He wouldn’t hear him coming, Bofur knew that, but he was determined that Bilbo wouldn’t see _him_ waiting here either. It was just a matter of who would get the drop on whom at this point.

He had been right; he hadn’t heard the hobbit coming at all. No surprise really, if he could sneak up on a dragon, Bilbo could certainly creep up on a half asleep dwarf.

“Bombur left some soup over the fire for yeh. There’s bread from the elves under that cloth there.” Bofur didn’t speak up until he was certain that his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.

There was a small sound as Bilbo jumped in surprise. “Bofur? I-Is that you? I didn’t see you there.” Bilbo’s voice was unsteady, though he hid it well.

“I know,” Bofur responded softly. “I almost thought yeh’d never show up.” Standing, he moved over to the table, pipe in his hand now. Perching on the edge of the stone, he handed Bilbo a wooden bowl and tilted his head to indicate the pot still hanging over the fire.

“Were you waiting for me?” Bilbo took the bowl, turning his back to Bofur and filling it with the still simmering soup. “You didn’t need to you know. I’m quite all right. Really. I do know how to feed myself you know.”

“So yeh don’t want ta talk about it then?”

With Bilbo silhouetted against the faint light of the fire, it was possible to see the tensing of his shoulders before the hobbit forced himself to relax. “Talk about what?” Bilbo’s voice _sounds_ faintly amused and confused. But as he turned to face Bofur again, the dwarf could see the tight lines around his mouth - though his eyes were hidden now that his back was to the fire. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“How about the fact that yeh haven’t been in Thorin’s rooms for nearly three days now? Or that yehr avoiding us. Sneaking about the tunnels. Did yeh think we’d not noticed? That we wouldn’t be worried for yeh? The king- Thorin, he’s goin’ ta pull through yeh know. Oin feels comfortable in sayin’ it now. His fever’s breakin’,” his voice was earnest as he tried to keep Bilbo there. As if he could read from just the set of Bilbo’s shoulders what was making him upset.

He couldn’t - though he bet Thorin could if he were in any condition to be coherent.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Bofur.” Bilbo shook his head with a small laugh. The sound was too high; forced. “When you hear about dwarves you certainly hear about their obstinacy and fondness of mining, but I don’t think anyone quite understands how truly _fussy_ you lot are. I’m quite all right I promise. I just needed some time alone is all. I wanted to see what we travelled halfway across Middle Earth for.”

“Don’t-” Bofur’s voice is strained as he tries to meet Bilbo’s eyes in the gloom. “Not with me Bilbo. I know yeh better than that. Did he say somethin’ stupid again? Yeh know he doesn’t think before he speaks at tha best of times, let alone when he’s feverish.”

“He? Thorin?” Bilbo’s play at nonchalance wasn’t fooling anyone, and they both knew it. “It’s not-” The hobbit swallowed hard, shaking his head, his eyes falling to the liquid in his bowl. “It’s nothing like that…”

Frowning, he reached out, placing a hand gently over Bilbo’s. “Don’t run away on m-” Quickly he swallowed back the word. “Us, don’t run on us again, not after we’ve made it so far.”

“I’m not going anywhere Bofur. I promise. I’ve still got some things to discuss with that idiot in there. Not the least is about trying to die heroically because he can’t be bothered to wait for backup. And about the fool things that come out of his mouth.” The last was muttered under his breath, and Bofur wasn’t certain if he was supposed to hear it or not.

“Ah, so it was somethin’ he said then.” He pulled his hand back, lifting his pipe up to his lips as he leaned away carefully. “He certainly does seem ta have a knack for upsettin’ yeh without meanin’ to.”

“Yes.” Bilbo’s voice was tight when it was supposed to be light. Strained with some emotion Bofur couldn’t name when all he had been trying to do was make Bilbo laugh, at least a little. “He certainly does at that.”

Bofur’s brow furrowed at that. There was more going on here than Bilbo was telling him. Thorin must have said something exceptionally stupid to have Bilbo in such a state. They all knew that Thorin was fevered, not quite in his right mind; Bilbo should know that better than anyone. So what had happened- Unless it was more than that? More than about what Thorin had said or done, but about the state he was in as well.

He was being a fool again. Here he was cracking jokes about the dwarf Bilbo was betrothed to when he was still in an uncertain state of health. Oin said it was all going to be okay, but Bilbo couldn’t know that when he was working his hardest to avoid them all. Of course Bilbo would be fretting, he knew that already (the full food trays themselves were evidence enough). Humour was all well and good, but sometimes he needed to learn when to keep his mouth shut.

“Bilbo-” he said carefully, laying a hand gently on Bilbo’s shoulder, meeting the hobbit’s eyes. “It’s goin’ ta be all right yeh know. Everythin’ will work itself out. Jest yeh wait. He’ll come back ta yeh yet.”

And if he didn’t? If Thorin took a turn for the worse and succumbed to the fever? Well then, he would do whatever it took to help Bilbo. He would stay at the hobbit’s side, in whatever capacity that he needed. Perhaps- Perhaps one day, when the grief faded and the events were more distant, perhaps then he would tell Bilbo everything. Maybe then he would have enough courage to say how he truly felt.

But that was only if the unthinkable should happen, and that didn’t bear dwelling upon.

“Jest yeh wait,” he repeated, squeezing Bilbo’s shoulder lightly.

Bilbo shook his head. “That’s not- I know he will. That is I think I do. But that’s-”

Watching the hobbit carefully, Bofur tried to puzzle out his expression. Something was clearly weighing on Bilbo’s mind. He knew his friend well enough by now to realize that now was not the time to push. If he was going to say anything, it would be in his own time.

“Bofur- May I ask-? That is- It’s just that Thorin said something and I was wondering if you knew- ”

“Bofur?” The voice came from behind them, interrupting Bilbo before he could say what was on his mind.

Turning his head, Bofur glanced around to see Ori in the second entrance to the kitchen. As soon as his attention turned away from Bilbo, he felt the halfling slip out from under his hand. With a muffled curse, he turned back around, but Bilbo was already gone, disappeared back into the shadows which he seemed so adept at hiding in.

“Bofur? Did you catch Bilbo like you had planned?”

Yes he had, and he’d been about to find out what exactly it was that troubled the hobbit so much that he had been hiding away. He had felt it; it had been on the tip of Bilbo’s tongue. Cursing several times in his mind, Bofur turned fully to face the young dwarf.

Ori looked so sincere, that Bofur couldn’t bring himself to tell him that his distraction had allowed Bilbo to slip away. “No,” he said at last with a slight shake of his head. “Not yet. Thought fer sure he would have come by now. Guess he’s too talented a burglar fer tha likes of me ta catch.”

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try again.

~ * ~

 _He had always been able to tell when Bilbo was feeling out of sorts, or out of place. At first, it was only to be expected, he was a hobbit amongst dwarves after all. Bofur had tried his best to include Bilbo, but while he was generally less suspicious than the rest of the Company, he hadn’t quite known what to make of Bilbo at first. It wasn’t like he was_ that _familiar with halflings. He knew they lived in the Shire, along the road from Ered Luin to their kin, but he’d never actually seen one before. Gandalf had found Bilbo, and told the company to accept him._

_It was a tricky thing, taking wizards at their word._

_Still, he was a strange little creature, Bilbo Baggins, and Bofur couldn’t help but wonder if all hobbits were like him: fussy, and uptight, and far, far too easy to tease. It was just so easy to get a rise out of him that it almost took all the fun out of it._

_Almost._

_Bofur wasn’t the only one to realize how fun it was to rile up the hobbit. It got to a point though, that even he had to feel sorry for poor Bilbo. It was hard being the odd one out, he knew that just as well, though in a different sense. Sure he was a dwarf, but he, his brother, and his cousin were the odd ones out on this quest; they were not of Durin’s line. Perhaps it wasn’t extremely obvious, but he knew that his family felt it, the faintest of suspicions and uncertainty as to why they had decided to join Thorin’s quest._

_It was about two weeks after their sidetrack to the Shire when Bofur decided to show a little pity. The camp had separated, as it had started to do since that first night, into little groups. The heirs of Durin, along with Balin and Dwalin, off to one side, the Ri family on the other side of the camp, with his own kin gathered by the fire, since it was Bombur’s duty to cook. Bilbo was off by himself at the edge of the circle of firelight, seated on a log, his pipe held between his teeth as he struggled to light it._

_Instead of joining Bifur and Bombur at the fire as he usually did, Bofur moved over to Bilbo, taking a seat with a soft groan. “Feel like my legs are goin’ ta be stiff ferever,” he said easily enough. Pulling out his pipe and tobacco pouch as well as he settled on the log._

_He laughed outright when Bilbo jumped. The hobbit turned toward him, frowning slightly._

_“What?” he asked, pulling some pipe weed out of his pouch. “Have yeh got used ta yer pony now?”_

_“Yes,” Bilbo answered, his brows coming together as he openly started at Bofur. “Myrtle,” he spoke unexpectedly as he pulled some of his own pipe weed out. “Her name is Myrtle. And yes, yes I suppose I have.” Distractedly, the hobbit stuffed the weed into his pipe with a soft noise._

_“Oh, yeh’ve named her then?” He was trying to engage in conversation, but it was made more difficult by the fact that Bilbo seemed a little suspicious of him. Well, that couldn’t entirely be helped really, he had done his own fair share of teasing (and may have started the entire thing off). “What kind of weed yeh have there?” It was probably best if the conversation took a turn that he could at least expand upon._

_Bilbo nodded in response to the first question, lighting his pipe now with a side glance over to him. Puffing a couple times to ensure the weed stayed lit. “Longbottom Leaf. It’s the best in the Shire,” he responded at last, pulling his pipe away to speak clearly. “Best there ever was in fact.” Bilbo took a contented puff on his pipe, leaning back on the log in apparent superiority. “Never anything finer.”_

_“Is that so?” Bofur couldn’t help but chuckle. Putting his own weed away, he leaned forward. “Let’s have a taste then.”_

_The hobbit pulled back, puffing on the wooden stem in clear thought._

_“Unless yeh’re scared of bein’ proven wrong?”_

That _got a rise out of Bilbo, which he had guessed it would._

_“Care to wager on that?”_

_That Bofur hadn’t expected. Dwarves, dwarves placed bets on everything, but up to this point Bilbo had never spoken up to get in on the betting. While that told him enough on how he should bet, the point of this exchange wasn’t to win money, but rather to make Bilbo feel more comfortable. With a grin, he nodded, holding his hand out for Bilbo’s tobacco pouch. “All right,” he smirked. “I’ll bet yeh five silver that Blue Mountain weed is better than this Longbottom leaf of yehrs.” Five silver would be easy enough to win back in later betting rounds._

_Bilbo returned his smile, planting the pouch in his hand. “You’re on.”_

_Taking the pouch, he pulled out a measure of leaf, putting it into his pipe. He could feel Bilbo’s eyes on him as he set his pipe up, lighting it carefully. Leaning back, he took a couple of experimental puffs._

_“Well?” The grin on Bilbo’s lips could almost be said to be...mischievous. “Never had anything like it have you?”_

_Before he even had a chance to answer, the hobbit had crossed his feet at the ankle, puffing out a perfect smoke ring with a very self-satisfied chuckle. For a moment he didn’t answer, letting Bilbo have his victory. He let it drag on, leaving it so long that Bilbo puffed away in discomfort, shooting him multiple looks. At last, he pulled the pipe out of his mouth, slowly stroking his beard. Gradually a smile spread, and he laughed brightly. “Nothin’ like it that’s fer sure.”_

_Puffing again, he blew a smoke ring himself, watching it drift into the sky with Bilbo’s. “I’ll gladly pay yeh. This is the best I’ve ever had. Best not let on ta anyone else.” Laying his finger along his nose, Bofur winked at Bilbo, earning a knowing grin from the hobbit and a soft, pleased chuckle._

_“Probably for the best,” Bilbo agreed, settling himself comfortably again, forming another smoke ring. “Don’t know when I’ll be able to get more of it anyway.” His grin widened, chuckling softly at their shared secret._

_Bofur joined in, puffing away contentedly with Bilbo._

_It soon became clear just how strong Bilbo’s pipe weed truly was._

_“She really did that?” he burst out laughing, shaking his head at the picture his new friend had just drawn for him with his words. He had some unpleasant relatives to be sure, but not one who kept trying to take his very home out from under him._

_“She did she did,” Bilbo laughed back, puffing away as he shook his head over the memory. “One thing I won’t miss from the shire is Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.” He shook his head with a tut._

_Snorting, Bofur met Bilbo’s eyes, and they both started to laugh again._

_“Hey!” Looking up, Bofur grinned as Nori shambled over. “Care to share what has you two so amused?”_

_He caught Bilbo’s eyes sliding over to him, and he lifted his brows. Together they looked up at Nori, and started laughing in his face. “Sorry,” he shrugged, puffing on his pipe with a very satisfied smirk. “No can do. I’ve been sworn ta secrecy.”_

_Bilbo nearly choked on his own lungful of smoke at that, startled into another laugh._

_“Well then. Least you could do is share some entertainment with the rest of us.”_

_The Company had drifted toward the fire drawn both by the food that was nearly done as well as their laughter. “Bilbo!” His voice was a little too loud, but no one seemed to mind. Clapping the hobbit on the back, nearly pitching him forward into fire, Bofur grinned widely. Fortunately Bilbo was able to catch himself before he tumbled right off the log, fumbling with his pipe as well._

_“What? What?” Bilbo spluttered as he tried to sort himself out._

_“It’s yehr turn.” Bofur grinned, taking the pipe from Bilbo before he could drop it in surprise. “Sing us one of yehr songs before dinner.”_

_It was highly probably that had they not imbibed quite so much pipe weed Bilbo would have tried to duck out of it. Instead, the hobbit slid off the log, tugging on his waist coat importantly. “All right all right.” The hobbit began to flap his hands for quiet as the entire Company roared their approval for this impromptu concert._

_Throwing his arms out wide, Bilbo began._

“There is an inn, a merry old inn,  
Beneath an old grey hill  
And there they brew a beer so brown  
That the Man in the Moon himself came down  
One night to drink his fill.”

_Roaring their approval, most of the Company joined in, stomping their feet along as they got the feel for the beat. Bofur clapped along, grinning as Bilbo got into his performance. As he watched the hobbit, Bofur felt a warming of his heart; he would make sure that their burglar didn’t feel left out again._

_It was time to bring their hobbit properly into the company._

~ * ~

This wasn’t possible.

_“Well I’m sure you lot will think I’m being dreadful.”_

There was no room for any other thought in his mind.

_“But I’m terrible at goodbyes.”_

This just wasn’t possible.

_“And you know how good I am at slipping off while no one is paying attention.”_

His own voice sounded hollow in his ears. This wasn’t real. He wasn’t reading this. He wasn’t looking at the writing that was a little too shaky for it to be real. Bilbo’s writing was much neater than that.

“ _If any of you happen to be passing by Bag End (if I recall, it is on the way to Ered Luin after all).”_

Was that a smudge? A darkened spot from a tear hastily wiped away? Or were the words just blurring because his own eyes were misting. The words didn’t make sense. Bilbo wouldn’t just leave- _couldn’t_ just leave.

_“You are welcome any time. Tea is at four, don’t be late, but being early is quite fine.”_

The parchment began to shake as Bofur’s hands trembled. The words slowly became softer and softer as he tried to actually comprehend what he was reading. This didn’t make sense. This couldn’t be happening.

_“Don’t bother knocking. Your Burglar, Bilbo Baggins.”_

Despite the thickness in his throat, Bofur felt a laugh threatening to bubble forth. So distantly polite, and so very Bilbo. Leaving without a word and inviting them for tea- The amusement in something close to hysterical, it’s only because he can’t quite seem to wrap his mind around what is happening right now. He couldn’t reconcile the image of Bilbo fretting himself to nothing at Thorin’s bedside with this unadorned goodbye.

Why had he left? It didn’t make any sense.

This wasn’t possible.

Bofur coughed in the silence, squinting slightly at something scribbled out at the bottom of the note. He couldn’t quite make out what it said, the line too thoroughly scratched for him to make out more than a couple words. Something about ‘Thorin’ and ‘sorry’.

He felt his heart thud painfully in his chest. Swallowing hard, he put the parchment down on the table. The sharp stab of pain he felt at those words, even scratched out as they were, left him breathless. Thorin- Yes of course he would say something about Thorin, but nothing about him. There was no explanation, no apology to _him_. Weren’t they friends? He had thought they were, had thought that he was closer to Bilbo than anyone in the Company except for Thorin - and Bilbo had left Erebor, left Thorin.

Left them all with only this note.

“I don’t understand.” Ori looked around at the somber dwarves gathered in the small room. “Aren’t Bilbo and Thorin _naiblil'âmralê_?”

Bofur turned his eyes away away, he can feel the Company watching him, but this time he doesn’t have any answers about Bilbo’s strange behavior.

“Isn’t Bilbo going to marry Thorin?” Ori’s voice is small, the loss in it striking a chord that hurts far too much within Bofur.

Married- He hadn’t wanted that, hadn’t wanted to see his love marrying his king but- But that would be far preferable to this. At least if Bilbo married Thorin he would be close, Bofur would be able to see him happy. But this?

This felt wrong.

He couldn’t help but see Bilbo in the kitchen again, the fire behind him, confusion in his blue eyes. Did this have something to do with that? The question that Bilbo hadn’t been able to ask him that night? But Thorin had woken up since then! Things were supposed to go back to normal! While it might be painful to see Bilbo by Thorin’s side he was okay with it because he knew Bilbo belonged there. Bilbo belonged Swith himS, with them all in Erebor, the land he had helped to reclaim.

“Doesn’t make sense,” Gloin muttered into his beard, shaking his head sadly. “Just yesterday I thought he was going to pine away into nothing from fretting.”

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make any sense at all.

“Gandalf was the last to see him,” Dori spoke up, disbelief and a little bit of anger in his voice. “He said the two of them were talking.”

Bofur lifted his head, his eyes drifting to the closed door of Thorin’s room. A plan tickled at the back of his mind. Wild thoughts that made no sense even to him. Desperate plans of demanding answers from Thorin, to find out what he had done this time. Half mad plans of just following after Bilbo, proving to him that not all dwarves were as dense, senseless, and rude as Thorin. Vague notions of riding off and dragging their cursed burglar back to the mountain where he belonged.

A wordless scream of pain and rage came from behind the closed door and the sound of breaking pottery made Bofur jump back startled.

Dwalin and Balin exchanged knowing looks. Balin inclined his head toward the door and Dwalin nodded, going to open it.

Bofur didn’t envy them. Not even the entire hoard of Smaug would tempt him into that room right now. Thorin might be grievously wounded, but Bofur knew the painful sting of disappointment; he was well aware of what it might drive a dwarf to do. Even if Thorin was going to let Bilbo go, that didn’t mean that the agony of that disappointment was any less. In fact, it was probably worse since they had been betrothed.

Why had Bilbo left?

 _‘Get out.’_ Thorin snarled, the sound deep and guttural.

Bofur shuddered, shifting uncomfortably with the rest of the Company as Dwalin stepped into the room. None of them could stand this, but none of them could bear to leave either. They all wanted the answer to Dwalin’s question.

The answer hit Bofur with a force like a physical blow.

That was wrong.

Bilbo hadn’t cared about that. He had sat by Thorin’s bed for days, starving himself despite all that. Thorin had come back to himself, it was all any of them, including Bilbo, cared about. He had seen it firsthand. Bilbo hadn’t even released Thorin’s hand for a full day after they had been brought off Ravenhill. So that- That couldn’t be it. Thorin must have done something- said something else to drive Bilbo away. There was no way Bilbo would just back out of the engagement after all that.

It was all wrong.

Without a word, Bofur turned and left the room. He couldn’t take it anymore. It didn’t make any bloody sense! There was only one way he was going to get any kind of sensible answer.

It was early yet. Bilbo couldn’t have gotten too far in such a short amount of time. The note couldn’t be that old, someone would have noticed it.

Bofur just hoped Bilbo hadn’t left Dale just yet. If he found him, if he could only talk to him, Bofur knew he could make Bilbo see some sort of sense. He just needed to catch up to him.

He couldn’t lose him all over again.

~ * ~

 _It was cold, it was wet, and Bofur was fairly certain that the path, more like a track really, they were on was going to be the death of them all. Dwarves were used to mountains, but they_ usually _had the good sense to stay_ under _them, instead of trying to cross over them in the middle of a thunderstorm. Of course the condition of their current path didn’t make the crossing any easier. Slick with rain, crumbling underfoot, and far, far too thin for any dwarf with good sense._

_If it weren’t for the fact that Balin was directly behind Thorin - thus able to give direction - Bofur would have been willing to bet a lot of gold that their noble leader had gotten them well and truly lost._

_Keeping one hand on the rock face beside him, Bofur angled his body, trying to protect poor Bilbo as best he could. This particular company was used to rough roads and even worse weather, the poor hobbit looked about ready to fall apart he was shivering so hard. It was a good thing that Dwalin was behind Bilbo to block most of the wind that way, otherwise it was entirely likely that their burglar would have slid from the track hours ago._

_To say their current position was hazardous would be a grievous understatement._

_Muffled words from the front of the line were torn away by the wind. Something about shelter? Well of course they needed shelter! It was beyond miserable, and no one should be trying to go over this pass in the dark._

_There was a knock of rock against rock behind him. It was only the quick reflexes of Dwalin that prevented Bilbo from tipping right off the edge. Lurching back, Bofur grabbed onto the hobbit’s shoulders, helping Dwalin to pull the hobbit back from danger. He’d somehow managed to adopt Bilbo, taken responsibility for him at least, and he would hate to lose his best friend to the no doubt very pointy rocks at the base of the cliff before they even had a chance to finish Bilbo’s marvelous pipe weed._

_Heart pounding, Bofur leaned, back against the rock face, pulling Bilbo with him. Keeping a hand on Bilbo’s chest, pressing him back against the rock, Bofur raised his eyes to see Dwalin glancing down at the hobbit with something almost like worry in his eyes. Good. His attempts to get the rest of the Company to accept Bilbo as one of their own was working. There was just the tricky matter of Thorin still to deal with. Bofur figured the easiest way to change his king’s mind, without Bilbo having the chance to prove himself and his loyalty, was to get those closest to Thorin to do it for him._

_“Are yeh all right?” Bofur had to lean in close, his lips almost against Bilbo’s ears in order to be heard over the thunder and pounding rain._

_The hobbit managed a breathless wheeze, and a shaky nod. Well, that was probably the best he was going to-_

_“Look out!” Dwalin’s voice cut through rumbling wind, just before the entire mountainside they were on began to shake._

_Pressing back again, a hand reaching out to grab the back of Bilbo’s shirt, Bofur stumbled as the ground shook. What little there actually was of the track began to crumble._

_He’d never seen anything like it, had never thought that it was possible. Surprise and awe drew him forward, squinting into the rain. Stone giants. The legends were true!_

_This- was probably not the best place to be._

_A hand grabbed him, pulling him back under the dubious shelter of a crumbling overhang. Gasping, he nodded in thanks to Fili for dragging him under in the nick of time. A desperate hand clutched at his shoulder. Bofur turned to see a very white looking Bilbo, his eyes impossibly wide as he tried to keep his footing. Reaching up, he placed a hand over the hobbit’s, helping to steady him as the ground beneath their feet began to move._

_No. Definitely not the best place to be._

_A once in a lifetime experience really, being trapped on a ledge that was apparently a stone giant’s knee as it went into battle. Certainly unique- He could have definitely been quite content without ever having actually lived through it. That is_ if _he lived through it. It had been hard enough to keep his footing when the ground below him_ hadn’t _been moving about. Now it was almost impossible._

_He was going to die._

_The thought had hardly registered before their giant was lurching forward. Bofur could see his death rushing toward him. The actual face of the mountain was coming up far too fast._

_They were all going to be crushed!_

_There was hardly a second to think about his own safety, but even then Bofur had half a panicked though of ‘Bilbo-’ before rock was tumbling all around him._

_It was a minor miracle. Mahal blessed them all. They were just_ below _the giant’s knee, leaving a tiny space for those stranded to half roll, jump, or fall onto the track as the giant crumbled around them. Bofur wasn’t entirely certain how he had made it onto the ledge, but suddenly he was staring up and wheezing as he tried to recover air that had suddenly got knocked straight from his lungs._

_Pushing at the rocks that partially covered him, Bofur pulled himself to his feet just as Thorin and the others arrived. There was only the briefest second of relief, before he realized something was wrong._

_Scanning around him, relief quickly gave way to panic. “Where’s Bilbo?” The hobbit was nowhere to be seen! Bofur’s heart pounded in his chest as he searched frantically. “Where’s the hobbit?” He was speaking, but he was only vaguely aware of it._

_No no no!_

_Dropping to his knees, pushing aside rubble, Bofur searched for the smallest sign of the hobbit._

_There! The tips of fingers clung to the slick rock edge. “There!”_

_Ori was beside him, both of them desperately reaching for the dangling hobbit. Breathing was suddenly difficult as his chest contracted with fear and near blind panic. “Grab my hand!” Stretching out, Bofur tried to reach the hobbit, his mind and heart both screaming at him to DO SOMETHING!_

_Panick gripped him; fear worse than he had ever felt in his life._

_He couldn’t lose Bilbo._

_If adrenalin hadn’t been pounding through his body, Bofur might have paused at that thought. All he could focus on at the moment though was trying to make sure that Bilbo didn’t fall to his death. Fucking hell! Why did his arms have to be so cursed short? Why did it have to be raining so hard! Stretching forward, his fingers walking down the cliff face toward Bilbo, Bofur tried to squeeze all the air from his lungs, pressing himself just a little further downward to reach that extra inch-_

_A shape moved into his peripheral vision. Dwalin’s voice urged them to get out of the way; Thorin had swung himself over the cliff._

_Relief clawed at Bofur’s throat as Thorin grabbed one of the hobbit’s arms and half lifted, half pushed Bilbo up towards him and Ori. Scrambling, he gripped the back of Bilbo’s jacket, grabbing at his pack, pulling him onto the safety of the ledge at last._

_All his attention was focused on Bilbo. Half collapsing against the rock wall, Bilbo half on top of him, Bofur sighed as he wrapped an arm around and through Bilbo’s arms, keeping him close. He wasn’t going to let him go. Not now. Not again._

_Not ever._

_Grunting behind him and the shuffle of boot on stone told Bofur that Thorin had returned to the ledge as well. He, however, was more concerned with the panting wheezes coming from Bilbo - and the fact that he was more focused on that gave him pause as well._

_“I’d thought we’d lost our Burglar,” Dwalin huffed._

_Bofur was still trying to figure out just exactly what was going on with him. There in the night and the pouring rain, his king hanging off the side of a cliff, he’d been more concerned with- With Bilbo. He’d been more worried about Bilbo than anything, and now that he was safe and sound the relief he felt was completely flooding out the fear and anxiety that he should still be feeling. They were still on the side of a mountain in the pouring rain, they weren’t out of danger yet! But- but Bilbo was safe..._

_“He’s been lost, ever since he left home. He should never have come. He has no place amongst us.”_

_His chest tightened painfully at that. Glancing over, he saw Bilbo’s face fall and wanted to do nothing more in that instant than to just wrap his arms around Bilbo and hold him close. Bilbo did have a place! A tiny spark of resentment flared. Bilbo did have a place, and if Thorin didn’t want him then Bofur would gladly make a place for Bilbo at his side-_

_For Mahal’s sake! By all the grace of the Valar’s this couldn’t really be happening. The middle of a quest that could claim any, or all, of their lives was certainly not the time to be forming attachments._

_Logic was one thing, but as the others moved off toward the cave Thorin had found and Bofur pulled himself to his feet, he couldn’t ignore the flare of warmth that spread through him when Bilbo took his offered hand. Nor could he ignore the faint feeling of loss as he helped Bilbo around in front of him and their hands slide apart as the hobbit stumbled after the others._

_Now was not the time but- Bofur was fairly certain he was falling, or had already fallen, in love with the hobbit._

_~ * ~_

The anger snuck up on him.

First had been the shock, the sheer disbelief that something like this could actually be happening. Bilbo wouldn’t just leave like that. He wouldn’t just go without saying a word to anyone, without saying anything to _him._ Sure he wasn’t Bilbo’s fiance but- they were the best of friends.

There was only one explanation: Thorin had done something.

That was honestly the only reasonable, logical, thing that could possibly explain why Bilbo had left like that. Sure Bilbo had been off the past couple of days, but that had simply been, as much as he hated to admit it, that had simply been Bilbo pining over their idiot king who’d gone and gotten himself stabbed.

He wouldn’t have left without a good reason. Only Thorin Oakenshield could have that strong of an effect. Only their fool king was capable of driving his own betrothed out of their mountain, sending Bilbo running for the Shire.

The pain of the surprise, the sting of betrayal melted quickly as frustration rose.

He had no intention of letting this stand.

There was no way he was going to let Thorin drive Bilbo out of ~~his~~ , all their lives just because he was too proud, and too insecure, to believe he had any right to chase Bilbo. Fíli and Kíli were already with Thorin asking for permission for something that Thorin should have ordered immediately instead of throwing crockery around the infirmary.

Unlike Thorin’s nephews, Bofur did not care if he had Thorin’s permission or not. If he was giving up on Bilbo, then Bofur was going to do what he should have done from the beginning. Never mind that he was only a tinker, a toymaker and sometimes musician, he was more than that now. He was a warrior, and it was about time that he fought for what he wanted.

Dain had brought plenty of supplies with him from the Iron Hills. Though the animals were currently stabled in what had once been part of the Great Hall of Erebor, there were ponies in plenty for use, and he had his share of the gold to buy supplies along the way. It shouldn’t take too long to intercept Bilbo - he had never quite got the hang of riding. Despite his obvious affection for all the beasts of their company, Bilbo still rode like a sack of flour.

It was a simple matter of stuffing supplies into hastily acquired saddle bags and retrieving his mattock and then he could be on the road.

A broad smile spread as he saw Fíli and Kíli waiting at the makeshift stables with the pony he’d already saddled. “‘Ey lads. You comin’ with me then?” Bofur grinned, not doubting for a moment that the boys would come with him to get Mr. ‘Boggins’ back.

The smile shrunk when Fíli shook his head, and disappeared when Kíli glanced at his feet and muttered something he couldn’t quite make out. “What was that then?” he asked, looking over at Fíli for clarification.

“Uncle has ordered us to leave Bilbo be.”

“He what?” Normally it was hard to get Bofur mad, but he outright growled this. Khuzdul curses flowed freely as he rammed the long handle of his mattock into the ground.

“His exact words were: ‘He has left fast and with no intention of returning. I will not hold him where he does not wish to be, and will not try to fight against his will. He wants to be gone, let him go’; followed by a direct order not to go against his will.” Kíli shrugged.

They all knew it was impossible to argue with Thorin when he got like this. Even if Bofur managed to convince Bilbo to come back, Thorin would likely chase him off again under some perverse sense of honour.

A stifled noise of absolute frustration rumbled from his chest. Without another word to Kíli or Fíli, Bofur turned, his hand clenching on his weapon as he stalked off. Did Thorin truly think that he could simply let Bilbo go and ~~Bofur would not to go claim him~~ the company would just let him drive off their friend?

Bofur was not subtle in his rage. Since it came so rarely, he didn’t really know how to hold back. Stomping into the infirmary, almost tearing the door from its hinges, the tinker was ready to give his king a very stern piece of his mind.

Thorin was nowhere in sight.

Mahal save the proud idiot, his foot was by no means healed, and now he was wandering around Erebor probably just to be difficult.

It took him far longer to locate Thorin than he liked. One would think that _someone_ would notice their king limping through the ruined halls. It wasn’t like he could be particularly stealthy. Yet wherever Bofur went, Thorin was absent. With each moment that passed, his anger faded. Of course he was still upset with Thorin, but he was more hurt that Bilbo was gone, that he was moving further and further out of his grasp, and this time it wasn’t into the arms of his king and friend.

When at last Bofur managed to find Thorin, he almost laughed. Almost. Somehow, despite his foot, Thorin had managed to climb to one of the parapets looking out over Dale, Mirkwood, and the Misty Mountains far in the distance. Thorin’s back was to him, but Bofur had no doubt that Thorin knew he was there.

“Well ‘e’s gone,” Bofur stated at last, his voice more irritated than angry. “I hope yehr  proud of yehrself. You jes let ‘im go, abscond with a wizard and leave us all behind.  For Mahal’s _sake_ Thorin. He’s just riding away, going back to ‘is Shire and away from our home. How could you jes _stand_ there without a word?”

Thorin didn’t even turn to look at him.

“You ‘aven’t got an explanation do you?” Bofur demanded, anger rising with every moment of silence that passed. Of course he didn’t. Thorin Oakenshield didn’t need to explain anything to anybody. He’d swooped in and stolen Bilbo out from under him, and he hadn’t said a word. Not good ‘ol Bofur. He’d stepped aside like a good lad, making way for his betters. He wasn’t bitter about Thorin’s station, not in the least, it was as Mahal willed it, but he couldn’t stand seeing that his sacrifice had been for nothing. He could have told Bilbo how he felt, could have gone with him if he hadn’t wanted to stay near Thorin.

“What did you do Thorin?” Bofur asked softly. Still no answer. “Answer me Thorin! What did you do? What did you say to him that made him leave? What. Did. You. Do?” The silence was getting to him. He couldn’t keep his temper in check if Thorin didn’t even try to defend himself.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?”

At last Thorin turned away from his silent contemplation of the horizon. Bofur nearly choked on all the rage and impotent hurt that made him want to rail at the heavens. All at once his anger rushed out of him and he was filled with such sorrow he felt like he was about to drown in it. He knew that look; he recognized the despair in Thorin’s eyes, in the tired way he held himself, trying so hard not to bow under the weight of his grief.

Bofur knew that sting of loss, though he’d never let it show like this.

What he had felt, what he had thought was loss, could not possibly compare to the emptiness in Thorin’s tired, far too empty, eyes.

“I begged him to stay.” The rasp of Thorin’s voice was almost unintelligible.

 _Yehr an idiot Bofur. That’s what you are._ He berated himself. _There’s no point in taking it out on Thorin. He’d never intentionally drive Bilbo away. You know that._

He had seen it. Even in the midst of his dragon sickness, Thorin had done nothing but try to keep Bilbo at his side. “Thorin-” Bofur swallowed hard. There were no words that could possibly fix this.

“Thorin…” he tried again, his voice careful and soft. He cast his eyes around their surroundings, the rubble that surrounded them, and the view that stretched out before them. “Thorin...how in Mahal’s name did yeh get up here?”

Thorin stared at him, and Bofur felt unease crawl up his spine. “I walked.” Was the straight response; not even a blink.

Shaking his head, Bofur moved carefully around the king, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Well let’s walk yeh back then. Simple enough solution. And if we go fast enough, maybe Oin won’t notice you’re missing.”

“I was foolish...to think that he’d still want to wed me after all he’s seen.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. Couldn’t find the words to describe what he had watched Bilbo go through, never leaving Thorin’s side. Never letting his hand drop away from Thorin’s, acting as if it was only his, only Bilbo’s presence that anchored Thorin to their world.

For once, Bofur kept his silence, steering Thorin slowly back toward the steps.

“I told him…” The words are spoken to the rocks at their feet. “About the mithril...I told him I meant it still. I told him and he left. That’s what I did.”

Thorin didn’t look up, but Bofur didn’t need to see his face to know how much those words had cost him. What could he say to that? Thorin had never really confided in him before, not like this. That was what Dwalin and Balin were for. He was only good for giving advice on how to deal with Bilbo’s temper, how to smooth the feather’s Thorin had inadvertently ruffled.

He couldn’t fix this.

He didn’t even know how he could possibly start.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a super special thanks to Lindzzz for allowing me to write this, and helping me out with bits and pieces. To add to that Lindzzz would like you all to know:  
> "Bilbo petting Thorin’s hair and smiling like the most tender gay definitely happened. He knew exactly what he was doing and rationalized it away with “well he has nice hair and this is really nice so no harm in enjoying it right??”
> 
> The note Bilbo left there is also 100% canon. Alys asked me to send over what it would say and clapped my hands in horrible glee to see how it was put to use. So if you wanna know what it was then it’s in here, it won’t be in Mahrana since Thorin never actually friggin reads it."
> 
> Thanks for reading! I can't wait to start Chapter 3!


	3. Chapter 3

_Once again they had all gathered at Thorin’s request. But the company that stood before Thorin son of Thrain was a very different one from that which had come at Thorin Oakenshield’s call.  Balin stood at the back of the group, looking old. Balin was the oldest in their group but it was like the entire weight of Erebor was resting on his shoulders. At Balin’s side was his brother; Dwalin had his arms crossed, his gaze down unable to meet Thorin’s gaze. A shadow dimmed Fíli’s eyes, a serious frown tugging at the heir’s face; Kíli looked uneasy at his brother’s side. The rest of the Company was ranged around their king, all uncomfortable and wary of the news that had caused Thorin to order them to gather before him._

_Ancient armour sat heavily on Bofur’s shoulders. It wasn’t the armour that made him uncomfortable, though it did feel unfamiliar, what truly chafed was Thorin’s behavior. War- They were going to war with elves and men because Thorin refused to honour his agreement. There was no way he was going to challenge Thorin on this, he had pledged his life and service but…His king had changed. He hadn’t seen it happening, he had come in from Lake Town and everything was wrong._

_It was just wrong._

_“You are here to bear witness.” Thorin spoke softly, his voice rumbling into the tense silence of the armoury._

_Leaning down, his king picked up a shirt of mithril, the silver steel shining in the torchlight. The light reflected up off the chains into Thorin’s eyes, giving him a frenzied look that wasn’t all together false. Bofur felt his throat go dry as the pieces came together from just that act._

_The others figured it out as well. There was the sound of shifting metal, clinking rings and rubbing plate, as the other stirred as well._

_“Bear witness to what laddie?” Balin asked the question none of them dared voice._

_Bofur didn’t actually want to hear the answer. He had gotten quite good at pretending things were different than they actually were. If Thorin didn’t say the words, he could pretend it wasn’t happening. He could pretend that none of this was real._

_“To the act which will confirm the halfling as my own.”_

_Unease stirred in him again. This was wrong. This wasn’t right. He had never felt so serious, had never felt so lost. Every fibre of his being was crying out that this was wrong; they should stop this. They had to stop this._

_Thorin had turned away, mithril still in hand. It was too late to stop it. This was going to happen, in the worse possible way. This wasn’t a betrothal, Thorin had said it himself, he was claiming Bilbo; he was adding to his hoard. If ever there had been even the slightest chance the Bofur had a shot with Bilbo it was gone._

_It wasn’t even that._

_The realization crashed over Bofur as Thorin raised the silver vest in front of Bilbo. It wasn’t that he would never have a chance with Bilbo, that mine was exhausted, it was that this wasn’t how it should be. Thorin and Bilbo were meant to be together, but not like this. Not when all Thorin could see was gold and treasure._

_Bilbo slid the mithril over his head, looking as uncomfortable as Bofur felt. It was official, and though all they could see was Thorin’s back, Bofur could imagine the triumph on his king’s face. Thorin finally had what he had desired for months. Bilbo was now officially Thorin’s; he should be happy, Bilbo was in love with Thorin, this was supposed to happen._

_Then why did it feel so wrong?_

_Thorin had stepped back, signalling them that it was time to go back to the wall. They had a treasure to defend. One by one they filed out of the armoury, walking between the king and his betrothed._

_As he passed by his friend, he couldn’t help his gaze from resting on him. Bilbo looked uncomfortable, he looked scared. This was not naiblil'âmralê. Bilbo should not be frightened by the one he was bound to. Bilbo may love Thorin, but any love that Thorin had held for Bilbo was twisted beyond recognition, and the hobbit seemed to recognize that._

_When it became impossible to look at Bilbo without craning his head, Bofur turned his eyes to the front again. His heart sank with each heavy step that echoed through the ruined chambers of Erebor._

_ ** _ _Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, pulling him out of line. Stumbling slightly, Bofur grunted as he was forced up against the stone wall. Thorin’s hand crushed his chest, forcing air out of his lungs with the strength of it. “Thorin-” The cry is pulled from him as he lifted a hand to grasp at his king’s wrist, panic forcing out what air was in his lungs._

_Behind Thorin he can see the others turning in shock toward the scene playing out before them. Bofur swallowed hard, staring up into Thorin’s eyes. This wasn’t his king. The hardness in those eyes, like the stone around them, this wasn’t Thorin._

_“Your eyes linger for too long on what does not belong to you toymaker.” The growl rumbles from Thorin’s chest, his eyes shining with a mad light. “I saw you watching him. What else of mine have your eyes fallen on, I wonder?”_

_Swallowing nervously, Bofur tries to force some air into his lungs. Lifting his hands, palms out, an anxious breath shuddered in his chest. He could feel his eyes widening, his mouth going dry with anxiety. Thorin was...he was being accused of hiding the Arkenstone? Did Thorin truly believe that he would hide the crowning jewel of Erebor from his king? “Thorin-” his voice cracked on the word. “Thorin I didn’t.” Somehow Bofur managed to keep his voice steady, though he could see his own death in Thorin’s eyes. “Yehr my king. I didn’t mean anything by it. I wouldn’t take anything of-”_

_Thorin exerted more pressure, choking Bofur’s words even as they rose to his lips. The hand on his chest pressed harder, driving him into the rock of Erebor until he couldn’t stop the grunt of pain at the pressure on his chest. He thought he heard something crack. “I just worry about ‘im is all, yeh know?” Licking his dry lips, it took all of Bofur’s composure to keep the panic from his voice. He was certain it was showing in his eyes though, if the gazes of his fellows were anything to go by. “You remember?” Bofur had his doubts about how effective logic would be on the dwarf in front of him. He just wanted to draw his king out, he wanted Thorin, the true Thorin, back._

_This wasn’t his king._

_“He ‘asn’t seen war ‘as he’?” Despite the lack of air in his lungs, Bofur somehow managed to choke out the words. Perhaps he could get Thorin to snap out of it- draw his friend and companion back out, just a little bit. “S’just my nature to worry about what trouble ‘e might get in to. That’s all. Yehr my king.” Slowly, carefully his words fall into the silence surrounding them. Meeting Thorin’s eyes, he tried to say more than his words could, even as he searched for a sign of the dwarf he had travelled halfway across Middle Earth with. “And he’s my friend.”_

_Bombur met his eyes over Thorin’s back, his brother’s eyes flicking between him and the king. It was a lie, a very blatant lie and they both knew it. Thorin didn’t know that though, he had taken great pains to ensure that Thorin didn’t know that._

_Something stirred in the depths of Thorin’s eyes. A glimmer of reason rising to the surface of the madness dragging him down._

_“Yes…I…”_

_Bofur held his breath as Thorin blinked, a furrow of confusion creasing his brow. Slowly the hand was pulled back, the pressure easing, finally allowing Bofur to breath properly. Exhaling sharply, Bofur let his hands fall to his side, watching Thorin wearily for any sign that he was about to be forced back to the wall._

_“Yes. He will need friends…allies,” Thorin said dazedly, his tongue heavy. **_

_Nodding carefully, Bofur inched around Thorin, making his way back to the line. Nervous glances were sent behind him to make sure he hadn’t just exposed his back to someone who wanted him dead. Balin and Dwalin each placed a hand on his shoulder, using their own bodies to shield him from Thorin’s eyes._

_When he finally took his place on the wall, Bofur let out another shaky breath. The fear that had risen in the moment Thorin had singled him out had not abated. It wasn’t fear for himself though, he couldn’t think about that right now._

_Bilbo was in danger. He needed to get out of this mountain._

~ * ~

He nearly went after Bilbo every day that first week. It felt like he was trapped inside the mountain. Bofur knew that every second he delayed Bilbo got further and further away. The stillness that mere weeks ago would have been a welcome break chafed at Bofur in a way he hadn’t thought possible. The entire situation was beyond ridiculous, it would be so easy to solve, such a simple thing to make right.

How could Thorin just _let_ Bilbo leave?

Bofur was in love with Bilbo, there was no denying that, and with just that he felt his heart fading with each passing hour. It should be impossible for Thorin to just stay here and not do anything about the state of affairs. To even go so far as forbid any of them to go and find Bilbo… They had been _engaged_ for Mahal’s sake!

‘… _I told him I meant it.’_

The memory came unbidden to Bofur’s mind, and immediately the guilt set in. Thorin felt it, Bofur was certain of that. Thorin felt the _emptiness_ that could never be fully described. The hollowness that had settled in Bofur’s chest that night in Laketown when he finally accepted that what he desired more than anything was forever out of his grasp.

He knew how hard that was to face. It wasn’t fair of him to begrudge Thorin his grief and loss when he himself was still struggling to accept the reality of the situation.

By the second week he began to entertain the idea of leaving as well.

_‘I told him and he left.’_

Thorin’s words from that day continued to play in his mind. There had to be more to it than that. Yes Bilbo left, but Thorin should have gone after him!

Bofur could still go after Bilbo. Or…he could simply leave Erebor and return to the Blue Mountains – and if he happened to visit the Shire on his way through? After all there was nothing keeping him here any longer.  There was still the loyalty he held for Thorin, the comradeship that had returned in that final charge. But his duty, what he had pledged to do, was technically done. Erebor had been reclaimed, the dragon was dead and the long forsaken kingdom of the line of Durin had been restored.

That was all he had signed on to do.

The thought of leaving did make Bofur uncomfortable, even as he entertained it. There was a tug deep inside, his honour prodding at him that leaving Thorin, leaving the Company that had all but become kin to him, was wrong. Still, he could hold on to the thoughts stirred by residual anger if he didn’t actually _see_ Thorin.

Thorin was recovering physically, but there was an emptiness in his eyes, a desolation that was far different from the one caused by Smaug, but no less cause for concern. It wasn’t that Bofur thought Thorin would descend into the Dragon Sickness again, but there were other ills that could play havoc with the mind, and especially the heart.

His king was different. Bofur had seen that himself when he had confronted Thorin on the slopes of Erebor.  The king had definitely returned, but there was a quality about him that Bofur could name but had no wish to. It was no longer a sickness of the mind that plagued Thorin, but rather a sickness of the heart that Bofur knew all too well. He found it hard to face Thorin without unease prickling at him. Quite honestly, he had been avoiding Thorin as best he could, still trying to hide from his own, far too similar, pain.

When the third week came, Bofur was practicing his arguments to convince Bombur they had to leave. It was one thing to leave the Company, it was quite another to actually leave his brother behind.

“I could not have asked for better dwarves to go on this quest with me.”

Thorin stood at the head of the table. The Company had all come together for the first time since that fateful day on the wall. Bombur had outdone himself with a small feast, surprising given the current state of their food supplies, it felt like they had gone full circle – except for the very conspicuous absence of Bilbo and the heaviness that hung in the air because of it.

“You all deserve far more than just a share of the treasure in this mountain. We have reclaimed our own, and I cannot envision it being rebuilt without you my friends, my kin, at my side. I hope you can all see a place here in our homeland.”

As the rest of the Company began to speak up, agreeing with Thorin’s sentiments, offering their services, Bofur fell into his own thoughts once more.

Their homeland Thorin called it, but that wasn’t strictly true. This could have become his home once. Now though? Now his home was calling- or so he had convinced himself.  Home was not here, not without Bilbo who had been such a large part of why they could all sit here now and have this conversation. It felt wrong…empty somehow. No, his home was half a world away in the Blue Mountains. Of course it wouldn’t be an easy journey to go back now, but there were places they could stop and rest on their way. If he happened to stop in on the Shire…well it was on the way home so… what harm would it do?

He would go to Bag End, Bilbo had invited them after all. It would just be casual. He would knock on the door and then…

_Bilbo had settled back into his old life. He had gained back the weight he had lost on the journey, had his comfortable clothes and life back. When he answered the door he was speechless. Bofur just smiled, his heart warming at the sight of the halfling._

_“I’m not late fer tea am I? Tried t’ get here quick as I could.”_

_At that, Bilbo returned his smile, stepped back and ushered Bofur into his home. “I didn’t think I would see you again after-”_

_Bofur had been practicing, planning out this moment in his head since the first steps out of Erebor. Moving close, he cupped Bilbo’s face gently with both hands, meeting the blue of Bilbo’s eyes. His heart pounded in his chest, but he had held back long enough. Leaning down, he kissed the hobbit gently, all the while pleading with Mahal to let him have this, to just let him have this after he had waited so long._

_As their lips met Bilbo inhaled sharply. Bofur closed his eyes, keeping his lips soft, savouring the tender warmth of Bilbo’s lips. He’d imagined this a hundred times, and he tasted sweeter than he had ever dared hope._

_“Nothin’ could keep me away,” he whispered once their lips parted, pressing his forehead against Bilbo’s. “Bilbo I…I love yeh, have done fer awhile now.”_

_Bilbo looked up at him, his eyes softening as he smiled. Bofur’s heart skipped a beat. He had never thought to see that smile directed at him. “It took you long enough.” Tilting his head, Bilbo kissed Bofur this time, his hand raised to lay gently over Bofur’s still cupping his cheeks._

_“I’m sorry,” he whispered, hardly daring to breath for fear that this would all disappear. “I meant ta come sooner but Thorin…”_

_The light in Bilbo’s eyes faded, a deep sadness taking hold as his hand dropped and he stepped away. Bofur swallowed hard. He knew that look he’d seen it in Thorin’s eyes-_

How could he even think it? He couldn’t possibly do that to Thorin. His king…his friend. He knew how it felt to watch the one you loved be with someone else. And…Thorin and Bilbo had been engaged. Bofur could guess how it felt, could sympathize, but it probably didn’t even compare to what Thorin actually felt. Bilbo had never been his…so what did he know really?

Thorin was nodding in response to the offers that Bofur had missed. He looked tired. The thought flashed across Bofur’s mind, but he didn’t dwell on it too long. It was Thorin after all, he had fallen back into his role as their leader almost seamlessly.

“Bofur.”

The sound of his name surprised Bofur so much that he nearly jumped to his feet. Had he been lost in his own fantasies that long? Well that was embarrassing!

“You are not tied by any bonds of kinship, yet you stayed through everything. Such loyalty I had no right to expect, and value all the more for how freely it was given. I know I have no right to ask more of you, but I do ask that you stay as the head of the King’s Guard.”

Well that was a reason to stay.

Yes that right there was certainly a reason to stay. That was definitely a reason- an invitation to accept this place as his home.

Silence had fallen, and he could feel every eye of the Company turned toward him. Leaning back in his seat, Bofur allowed the moment to drag on, trying to regain the ability to think clearly. Agree to be in Thorin’s guard? No, not being _in_ his guard, but _leading_ it!? There was certainly no reason to say no, at least as far as everyone except the –Ur family knew. As his eyes met Thorin’s in that silence, Bofur knew that there had only ever been one option open to him; he would never actually have left Erebor, not while his king still breathed.

“Oh aye,” he heard himself say as a lazy smirk crossed his features. “I followed yeh inta almost certain death, there’s no way yehr getting rid of me now. It’d be my honour to keep pullin’ yehr royal arse out of the fire.”

Thorin inclined his head toward Bofur as the rest of the Company roared in approval. The words had come out of his mouth, but Bofur was still trying to figure out what exactly he had just agreed to. Leading Thorin’s guard? Was Thorin _mad_? Well no, okay that was probably not the best word to use in this situation but- How could this possibly be a good idea?

Congratulations were tossed around the room. Bofur grinned, returning the slaps he got on his back and giving out some of his own. It still felt surreal. Him? In charge of Thorin’s personal safety?

The party began to wind down. Bofur caught sight of Thorin in a corner watching them all. He seemed content, but was obviously avoiding drawing attention to himself. Standing from the table, Bofur moved over to him. A frown tugged at his lips as he got closer.

There was something deeper than tiredness that was going on with the king. In the time that had passed since his speech, Thorin seemed to have shrunk somehow. There were lines in his leader’s face that were not from any pain lingering from his injuries. He looked…flat. He hadn’t noticed before because Thorin was so good at appearing strong - his charisma could blind side a cave troll. Now that he was no longer acting the part of King Under the Mountain, now that he had returned to Thorin, the exhaustion was almost painfully evident.

“Are yeh sure about this Thorin?” Bofur leaned against the wall close to the other, arms crossed over his chest, but not quite looking directly at him. “About me that is. I’m a miner, a toy maker sometimes. I can fight all right but wouldn’t Dwalin make more sense?”

Not to mention the fact that he had accused Thorin of running Bilbo off and not truly caring about the halfling a few weeks ago. Not exactly treason, but not strict loyalty either.

A sigh drew his eyes down, and he had to work hard not to say anything. Closer now he could see the dark smudges under Thorin’s eyes, stark against the unnatural paleness of his skin. Was Thorin thinner? Bofur had noted the fact that he seemed…deflated when the eyes of others were no longer on him, but this was more than that. In all honesty, Thorin looked beyond miserable; he looked fucking terrible.

“Dwalin has decided to take over defense of Erebor, he has vowed never to again to let our kingdom fall into the hands of others. And…I value you,” Thorin said at last, his voice quiet but sincere.

“I ain’t even your kin. Don’t get me wrong! I’m honoured truly I am! Just…a little confused,” he admitted with a slight frown.

Thorin shifted, sitting up straighter as he met Bofur’s eyes again. “I know we have no ties of kin or history, but that is why I value the loyalty you have shown.”

That drew Bofur up short. Staring at Thorin, he clenched his jaw in order to prevent it from dropping open. Once again he was struck with the realization that he would gladly give anything up for Thorin, including Bilbo.

~ * ~

 _There was something about this mountain that seemed to drain everyone.  Though the halls glowed with light reflected off piles of gold, there was no_ light _here. They had done what they’d set out to do: the dragon was dead, the mountain had been reclaimed, but there was no celebration. Darkness had settled in the hearts of the entire Company, a shadow that had fallen over them all with the gaze of their king. Everyone was on edge; all of them looking over their shoulders in worry. Bofur himself had never felt quite as anxious, nearly jumping every time a shadow emerged from a darkened hall._

_Since the wall had been erected everyday started with a feeling of tense expectation. Bofur knew that they were all expecting something to happen. He couldn’t put words to the heaviness that hung in the air, but it seemed to choke out everything; covering Erebor in a shadow of fear and uncertainty._

_This morning had felt a little better than any of the previous days within Erebor. A measure of fear had left, leaving him with some breath at last. Bofur’s chief fear had not been for himself, though he had caught Bombur and Bifur watching him with anxious eyes, it had been for his love best friend. It was obvious that Thorin considered Bilbo to be part of his hoard; he had claimed the hobbit as his own possession._

_That was wrong._

_It was so wrong, a perversion of the betrothal ceremony that set Bofur’s teeth on edge, made his braids curl and his beard prickle. There was no avoiding the facts now: his king was no longer Thorin Oakenshield. The dwarf he had pledged his loyalty to would never have turned on those that followed him. The king that now wandered the halls of Erebor was not Thorin, he was something dark. Though he wore Thorin’s face, walked with his step, he had become the shadow that had haunted the mountain since Smaug’s demise._

_Everything was going to be better now though, Bilbo had gotten out okay, away from the far too possessive eyes of Thorin.  He had seen it himself while he had been on watch last night. If he had not been a dwarf, gifted with strong eyesight in dark places, Bofur doubted he would have been able to pick up the small form that had lurked by the wall._

_Bofur knew he should have called out a warning, should have tried to stop Bilbo before the hobbit had disappeared over the edge of the wall. He couldn’t make himself do it. He had watched in silence as the rope was lowered over the side and Bilbo climbed down._

_As the vague silhouette of the hobbit disappeared toward Dale, Bofur could breathe again. He was safe, Bilbo would be safe now, out of Thorin’s grasp._

_The fear that had gripped him eased slightly with his realization. Bofur knew he could stay by Thorin’s side, just as he had pledged to do, just so long as Bilbo was safe and well_

_Dwalin called them to the wall in the early hours of the morning. An army of elves gathered before the mountain. It was time to defend their own. Silence held as Thranduil and Bard approached the wall. None of the Company was under any illusion, this was the beginning of the true battle for Erebor._

_Knowing that things were going to get ugly, and actually being confronted with the reality were two different things. With the revealing of the arkenstone, Bofur felt his chest tightening in phantom pain. Glancing sidelong at Thorin and his nephews, Bofur’s eyes shot back down to the elves in front of the gate. This- was a really bad plan._

_Though how had they got hold of- A second before the answer was made clear Bofur put two and two together._

_The little fool! Noble idiot! Bofur had known that Bilbo prided himself on his honesty and strength of character, but he’d never even considered the thought that Bilbo would actually_ steal _the arkenstone He can’t decide where he should look, at Bilbo, or Thorin. His eyes dart back and forth wearily, his ribs twinging when he inhales too deeply. This was not going to end well, and he had no idea how to step in._

_Humour was not going to work here._

_There was a moment where all feeling left Thorin’s eyes. An emptiness and disbelief that rocks Bofur to his core. He can’t even begin to fathom what was going through Thorin’s mind, nor does he want to, but the hurt he had seen for just a second, that crushing anguish…It gave him hope that Thorin, the proper Thorin, was still in there somewhere._

_They had all fallen silent, none of them knew what to do, none of them, not eve Balin and Dwalin, dared to interfere. That is, until the order came. The silence was broken by the shifting of feet. All eyes had been on Thorin, but now they turn away. Except for his. Bofur watched as the emptiness in the king’s eyes became something else, a rage that was far too potent for this situation. He felt his heart sinking like a stone; he knew he should do something, but the memory of those mad, feverish eyes staring at him as a hand crushes the breath out of his body-_

_His gaze landed on Bilbo, and some of the paralysis faded. The hobbit looked genuinely confused. There was no fear in his eyes – there should be, Mahal knew there should be – just surprised confusion as Thorin turned his back._

_Bofur frowned when Thorin grabbed at Fíli, trying to force him toward Bilbo. Anger rose in him then, anger at this king who thought that loyalty, a deeper loyalty than he was capable of comprehending in his current state, should be rewarded with death. His grip tightened on his weapon, even though he knows he could never actually_ use _it, and Bofur shifted, turning toward Thorin and angling his body in front of Bilbo._

_There was no point in it. Thorin shoved past him, knocking Bofur against one of the crenellations, driving the air from his already shallow lungs._

‘Bilbo!’ _The half desperate thought pulled him to his feet._

_He had never been happier to hear the wizard’s voice._

_Bilbo slid from Thorin’s grasp, and Bofur hurried to his side, helping him to stand. Wrapping a protective arm around Bilbo’s waist, Bofur urged him to the side of the wall where the rope he had used the night before was still secured._

_“Come on,” he urged softly, glancing behind them to make sure that Thorin wasn’t about to change his mind. “Go!”_

_As Bilbo climbed down the wall, Bofur felt his heart going along with the hobbit._

_‘_ Go. Go now!” _He urged in his mind._  “Go! And this this time don’t come back.”

~ * ~

The hollowness in Thorin’s eyes only continued to get worse over the following days. It wasn’t the same emptiness that had entered his eyes when Bilbo had scrambled down from the wall weeks before; it was something worse than that. Though Thorin hid it well, Bofur was sure he knew the pain that he was hiding. On the surface it seemed that Thorin was coping at least, moving on from the dragon sickness and the events that had followed after.

It only took one night on guard duty for Bofur to be proven wrong.

A small sound called Bofur’s attention to the room at his back. Thorin was still in the recovery room Oin had prepared before the battle, it wasn’t the most secure room, but Bofur had done a quick once over before the king had settled for the night.

The sound was repeated, a soft whimper and a strangled plea.

Bofur cursed under his breath. He hadn’t thought that anyone would truly try to get at Thorin while he was so deep in Erebor. There shouldn’t be another way into the room, but the dragon had done a lot of damage to the old kingdom. Hefting his mattock, Bofur threw the door open- and quickly grabbed for it before it could bang against the wall.

No one else was in the room.

Another sound of distress issued from the cot where Thorin lay, and Bofur let his mattock fall.

Bofur glanced at the open door behind him, unease crawling up his spine. He couldn’t be seeing what he thought he saw. It wasn’t- It couldn’t be possible. He couldn’t banish the image of Thorin, his king, his proud leader standing strong and sure at the head of their Company leading a charge into an army of orcs; the sight before him didn’t seem possible with that in mind.

“No-” The cry was broken off even as it was uttered, causing Bofur to nearly jump out of his skin.

Thorin tossed on the cot, a distressed whine not muffled at all by the blankets in disarray all around him. He had curled up in the center of the cot; a balled up form that looked too small to actually be Thorin. The sounds continued. Deep throated noises of distress, broken words and desperate pleas that choked the breath from Bofur’s throat.

Every fibre in Bofur’s being cried out to go to Thorin, to comfort him. He had dealt with his brother’s nightmares in the past. He had soothed Bombur when night terrors made him thrash about. This was nothing like that though. He had never seen, never thought to see, Thorin vulnerable like this.

Bofur knew, intellectually at least, that Thorin was just as fallible as the rest of the Company. It was one thing to know, quite another to be faced with the reality in such a jarring way. Thorin had always been, even in his deepest point of madness, Bofur’s king. He couldn’t reconcile the image he had of Thorin with the dwarf before him. The dwarf on the bed was just that, a dwarf tormented by nightmares.

Even as he stood there, Bofur could tell the dreams were getting worse. Tremors wracked Thorin’s body as the sounds became more guttural, as if they were tearing Thorin’s throat as they emerged. Still, indecision gripped Bofur. Should he try to help? How could he help? Would Thorin thank him for interfering, for finding out and witnessing this weakness?

“No, no please. Bilbo!” The scream is both gutted and terrified all at once.

The name is what decides him. Closing the rest of the distance between him and the cot, Bofur carefully sat on the edge. Concern creasing his face, he reached out, laying a hand gently on Thorin’s shoulder. “Thorin,” he called urgently, shaking him. “Thorin!”

All at once Thorin sat bolt upright, clutching at the arm Bofur had used to shake him. Bofur quickly leaned back, narrowly avoiding being hit in the head by the panicked dwarf. Keeping his hand on Thorin’s arm, Bofur swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. “Thorin?” he asked softly, peering through the darkness at Thorin’s face.

Thorin sat there, shivering slightly as gasps heaved from his lungs. His eyes were blown wide with panic and though he blinked slowly, Thorin looked utterly lost. “He fell. He fell! I saw him- I saw- I…”

There was no need to ask who ‘he’ was. “It’s all right Thorin,” Bofur soothed, his voice soft and low. Reaching out, he put his other hand over Thorin’s clutching hand, trying to reassure him. “He’s all right. He didn’t fall. I promise. Yeh made sure he was all right.”

Slowly the shaking stopped. Thorin turned, looking directly at Bofur, though he didn’t seem to register just what he was looking at.

Gently, Bofur pushed him back down toward the cot, his throat thick with words he couldn’t seem to force out. “He’s all right.” Bofur repeated softly.

All right…but half a world away.

~ * ~

_“Yeh’ll want t’ clean that,” Bofur plopped himself down next to Bilbo and nodded toward the ‘sword’ that was only half in the sheath._

_Bilbo jumped at the sound of Bofur’s voice, looking up at him with a dazed light in his eyes. “What was that? Sorry I didn’t quite-” The hobbit shook his head and forced a half smile._

_Once again Bofur gestured toward the sword. “Yeh’ll want t’ clean that. Yeh know, yehr sword? Bright bit of pointy metal yeh have strapped t’ yehr side comin’ out of yehr trousers? The one currently covered in blood? Yeah, yeh’ll want t’ clean that before it gets stuck in yehr scabbard.”_

_“Oh yes. Yes of course,” Bilbo cleared his throat. “You’re quite right I should-” The sword slid free of the sheath with relative ease and Bilbo held it awkwardly in his lap. A strange, strangled wheeze escaped the hobbit as he looked down at the blade. Black blood of the warg and orc he had killed making the engraving stand out more clearly despite the fact that it was trembling in Bilbo’s hands._

_A worried frown crossed Bofur’s features as he looked closer. The halfling’s hands still had blood on them. They shook as they held the blade in Bilbo’s lap, just a tiny tremor, but enough that it was evident. Technically that mad, flying leap at the orc had been Bilbo’s first taste of battle, and they hadn’t really stopped and had time to think until now. After the Eagles had dropped them off, they had wanted to put as much distance between them and their hunters while they had the lead._

_Now that they had finally stopped, everyone was taking care of the few belongings they had managed to retain. Or in Bilbo’s case, it seemed, remembering and trying to process all that had happened to them in the past week._

_“Here, I’ll take that.” Gently, Bofur took the blade from Bilbo’s trembling hands. “Oi Bifur!” He signalled his cousin over since he didn’t have the right oils and cloths for a blade – mattocks were somewhat easier to take care of._

_His cousin sat on the ground next to him and asked what he wanted in_ Iglishmêk. _“Jest yehr oils and cloths, if yeh still have ‘em. Master Baggins here doesn’t have any. Aye it’s an Elvish blade, but that don’t mean we should leave it covered in- all right all right, jest give me the blasted things already. Yeah I can make do with jest a cloth.” Bofur shook his head as Bifur continued to sign to him – he really was quite long winded when he wanted to be._

_He caught Bilbo’s curious gaze fixed on him, and grinned. “He’s sayin’ yeh shouldn’t be carryin’ a blade if yeh don’t have the tools t’ take care of it.”_

_“Could you teach me that?” Bilbo asked, scooting closer to them and waving his hand in their general direction._

_Bofur glanced over at Bilbo, his moustache twitching as he smiled. “Teach yeh what? How t’clean yehr sword?” He chuckled, his hands not pausing in their work. They run over the length of the blade, cloth working over the blood caught in the grooves of the hilt and engravings._

_Huffing, Bilbo shook his head. “No no. I meant that.” He wiggled his fingers again, waving his hands about for emphasis. “The thing with your hands; the sign language. It really would make talking to Bifur much easier. And I do rather have a soft spot for languages.”_

_The little smile that lit Bilbo’s face would have had Bofur caving in any other circumstance. Instead he fell silent, trying to seem as if he was completely focused on removing the tacky blood from the guard of the little blade in his hands. It wasn’t a simple thing, the hobbit’s request. In fact, it was a rather complicated matter that Bofur didn’t really have the heart to explain at the moment._

_“How about we jest stick with teachin’ yeh how to take care of this fehr t’day?” Bofur suggested with a smile, trying not to notice how Bilbo’s eyes fell when he brushed him off._

_“All right. I suppose that makes sense.” As quickly as the disappointment had appeared, it was gone again. Bilbo sat up straight again and moved closer to Bofur. “I guess you lot must be quite used to all this then.”_

_Bofur glanced over at the hobbit, his hands stilling as he looked at him. “Used t’ all what?” He was half distracted as Bilbo answered, catching sight of…was that Thorin? Bofur would have sworn that he’d just caught Thorin staring at them, but when he tried to peer through the gathering darkness the figure he’d seen was gone._

_No. No. He must be imagining things. Why would Thorin be staring at- oh. Not them collectively, probably at Bilbo. Bilbo who he’d hugged on the Carrack and- ah yes. That was definitely it._

_Ignoring the sinking of his heart – he really had no one else to blame, he’d waited too long – Bofur focused his attention on Bilbo again, catching the last bit of his sentence._

_“-weapons. You’re all great warriors, I’m just a hobbit.”_

_There was no way he could know what the beginning of that was, but Bofur still started laughing, Bifur joining in at his side. “Great warriors? Not at all Bilbo. Bombur’s a cook, Glion’s a merchant. Nori a theif, Ori a scholar. Balin saw some of the greatest battles of our history aye, but it’s been a long time since he’s held a blade in his hand. Fíli and Kíli are young, but they will be great someday, there’s no doubt of that. No Bilbo, there’s precious few warriors in our company.”_

_Bilbo stared at him in shock, and Bofur couldn’t help but laugh again. “Yeh jest keep shoving this pointy end into soft bits and yeh’ll be a warrior in yehr own right soon.”_

_“Well that-” Bilbo began to splutter, and Bofur went back to getting a particularly stubborn bit of blood. “What about you then?”_

_“Me?” Bofur lifted both his eyebrows._

_“Yes you. You seem quite skilled with that…that pick of yours.”_

_“Mattock,” Bofur corrected with a smile. “I’m used t’ the weight. I used it in the mines. I’m jest a simple miner Bilbo, a miner and toymaker.”_

_It was clear that Bilbo was having a little trouble digesting all the information. His face scrunched up, his eyes flicking with a few little noises coming out of him occasionally. Once or twice he opened his mouth like he was about to speak, but then closed it again shortly after. At last he crossed his arms over his chest and looked up at Bofur once more. “A miner?”_

_“Aye.” Bofur nodded, finishing with Bilbo’s sword._

_“Why did you come on this quest then?”_

_Inspecting his work, Bofur remained quiet for a time again. When he handed it back to Bilbo, he smirked, his eyes twinkling. “I was told there was goin’ t’ be free beer.”_

~ * ~

It was one thing to stand behind – or next to, or in front of – Thorin with his mattock and the knowledge that he was supposed to guarding the king, it was quite another to be faced with the cloth laid out on his bed, and a very delighted looking Ori glowing with pride. “What is this then?” Bofur asked with a raised brow. If he was being perfectly honest, it all looked a might ridiculous and pompous laid out on his little unmade cot.

“Why it’s your uniform,” Ori responded earnestly. Now the young scribe’s glance darted nervously between Bofur and the bed. “You know, for the King’s Guard.”

Bofur choked, his mouth dropping open in shock. He began to shake his head, stepping away from the cot and the pretentious garments that he was expected to put on. “Oh no. Oh no no no. I’m not wearin’-” Bofur was forcibly stopped by a pair of hands placed on his shoulders from behind.

“Oh but you’ll look lovely in it.” There was no need to look behind him, the tattoos on the knuckles, and the pure _joy_ in those words told Bofur clearly enough that his captor, as it were, was Dwalin.

“Don’t yeh think there are more important things that yeh lot should be doin’ rather than tryin’ t’ dress me?” Bofur growled. He could appreciate the humour, but that didn’t mean he really wanted to be the brunt of this joke. He was a miner! A toy maker! Not some trumped up merchant or noble who thought the need for anything other than serviceable clothing was needed.

Off to his side Bifur cackled. ‘ _Don’t fuss,’_ he signed in _Iglishmêk_.

“You’re in the honour guard, have to have you looking respectable,” Dwalin continued. Turning to look at the other dwarf, Bofur narrowed his eyes. Respectability had absolutely nothing to do with the clear amusement Dwalin was taking from this situation.

“Not on yehr-”

Bofur didn’t get to finish his protest. Suddenly he was swamped by a pile of his friends pulling off his clothes and stuffing him into the raiment that Ori had laid out on the cot.

A short while later, Bofur glared at them all from his position on the ground. Somehow the fabric he had been forced into had not been wrinkled in the slightest – though the same could not be said for his hair and mustache. Well that clearly needed to be addressed. Once that had been fixed, Bofur stared in the mirror that Nori had produced (probably filched from the vaults).

“I look ridiculous,” he grumbled, tugging uneasily on the dark blue velvet of the tunic he found himself wearing. In all honestly, though Bofur would never admit it to the smug looking Company standing behind him, he actually looked quite smart. Black trousers and a thin black shirt between his skin and a suit of chainmail were the base of the outfit. Over the mail was a short sleeved tunic of deep blue velvet trimmed in dull silver with geometric patterns traced in the same silver on the sleeves. Most prominent on the tunic was the stylized ravens in black traced in dark red across his chest; the symbol of the king. A  black leather belt with a short sheath for a held the tunic in place,. Over top of this again was a black leather vest. Finally there were black leather vanguards over his wrists carved in the same geometric patterns of his sleeves with the ravens of the king again, clutching a mattock in their claws; the new symbol of the head of the King’s Guard.

“Absolutely ridiculous,” Bofur maintained, turning away from his reflection. His eyes swept the room until they landed on a brown lump thrown off to the side during the scuffle to get him dressed. With a grin, Bofur bent down and retrieved his hat. Placing it firmly on his head, his grin widened into a smirk. Twisting the ends of his mustache up smugly, he nodded at last. “Oh now that’s much better,” he declared.

“Oh you have _got_ to be kidding me,” Dwalin growled. Reaching out, the head of the city’s defenses made to snatch the hat off Bofur’s head.

Despite the weight of the mail, Bofur managed to duck out of the way, his hands firmly on top of his head, holding the hat on. “Don’t yeh dare!”

“You can’t wear that blasted thing forever.”

“I can! And I aim to!” Bofur shot back.

“What’s going on in here now?”

“Balin!” Bofur dodged Dwalin again, making a beeline for the exit where Balin stood, hands on his hips staring bemusedly at the dwarves gathered. “Save me from yehr brute of a brother!” Ducking behind the elder dwarrow, Bofur made sure to keep his hand on his hat still.

“What’s this now?” The amusement is clear in Balin’s voice, but so is the slight tone of one resigned to forever be the ‘mature’ one of them all.

“Haven’t you ever heard of professionalism?” Dwalin stopped his pursuit, crossing his arms over his chest, staring pointedly at the hat.

“It’s my luck! Yeh can’t expect a dwarf ta be separated from his luck now can yeh?” Bofur demanded.

As Dwalin opened his mouth to respond, Balin shook his head. “Well that doesn’t matter right now.  You should be on duty should you not?” The elder dwarf raised his eyebrow pointedly as he turn to face Bofur.

“Well, in my defense-”

“They’ve just finished clearing the royal chambers,” Balin cut in, with another very pointed look, though it was softened by a fond smile. “I was thinking it might be time to show Thorin…”

“Oh! Right! I get yeh. I’ll go off for one last look and make sure all’s safe and well then.” He grinned triumphantly as Balin nodded again. He was eventually going to get the hang of this ‘head of the guard’ thing. In the meantime, Balin seemed to be quite capable of organizing most of Erebor into something that functioned fairly well. Most of it was under instructions from Thorin, but there were also times that he poked his nose in to help others – something which Bofur would be eternally grateful for, it wasn’t exactly like he had the highest qualifications.

Still, Bofur felt like he would soon get the hang of all of this.

Mahal please let it be soon.

Arriving in the Royal Wing, Bofur stepped inside the king’s chamber, and let out a low whistle. The sound echoed around the stone room, bouncing off the golden fixtures that decorate every spare inch of that grand room. It’s beyond ostentatious. It is a statement of power, but a statement that no one would see, this wing was off limits. This- this was purely for the enjoyment of the occupant. The sight of the gold flickering in the torchlight reminded Bofur of the tales of the sickness of Thror at the time of Erebor’s fall.

The room was almost as large as the entire –Ur wing in Erebor. Why would one person need so much space? It was too big, too big for one to live comfortably. Maybe if there were someone to share it with- But of course not. Bilbo was…Well this was going to be interesting.

At the very least there would be no reminder of Bilbo in these rooms, unlike the infirmary where Thorin was still sleeping. That was for the best, it might help ease the sting of loss if those reminders were gone.

Bofur had hope that would be the case for himself as well. Only time would tell.

After making sure there were no threats lurking in corners, Bofur went out to the front of the wing to await Balin and Thorin’s arrival. They should be along shortly.

Leaning on his mattock at the base of the stairs, he sighed; being part of the king’s guard was surprisingly…mundane. It was a lot of this, standing around waiting for Thorin to do something- Which he supposed wasn’t _so_ bad. At least he was always in the know of what was going on.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Bofur straightened, tugging once more on the hem of the uniform he had been forced into. As he had expected, Balin appeared shortly, Thorin coming up behind him. With a wide grin, Bofur swept off his hat in an overly grand gesture, holding it over his heart as he had been taught decades ago “Yehr chambers await,” he announced grandly. . Winking at Thorin, Bofur swung his arm out grandly, placing his hat back on his head in the same gesture. “All spit-shined and dusted down to every cranny! I supervised the last bit myself.” Bofur grinned, affecting a proud air, even though he really hadn’t done anything of the sort.

Silence fell, Thorin looking off down the corridor with a faintly haunted look in his eye. Bofur supposed he couldn’t blame him, it must be eerie walking halls you remembered from your childhood. But if the purpose was to give Thorin some peace of mind after being in the rooms that reminded him of the unceremonious departure of Bilbo…then there was no use allowing Thorin to get too far down his brooding path.

“Yeh don’t have t’ look so afraid of yehr bedroom.” He has been trying to get Thorin to smile, laugh, anything at all really that would lighten the gloom that seemed to hang over the king. He hadn’t really been that successful so far. Usually his only reward was a deadpan look and a slightly arched eyebrow that seemed to be asking if Bofur was really that stupid. Bofur used to think he was good at making people smile, but it was becoming harder to ignore the fact that Bilbo had taken with him a certain light that only the hobbit possessed and could bring out in others.

This time he gets a bit of a reaction. A slight tightening at the corner of Thorin’s mouth that Bofur thought might possibly be a twitch into a very poor excuse for a smile.

Well…it was better than nothing he supposed. A lot better than he’d been getting thus far at the very least.

Thorin started to talk, speaking memories that Balin nodded somberly with, and that Bofur had no idea how to place. Oh well they were making progress it seemed.

A story without any prompting, very good indeed. Bofur nodded along as if it was the most interesting explanation in the world, idly leaning on his mattock. Glancing down the hallway, Bofur turned back to Thorin with a little shrug. “Well it’s all yehrs now. Though I will be honest, I took a gander in there when they were clearin’ away all that debris and cobwebs and spiders. Figured it would do no harm seeing as I’d be stuck out in front of it most of the time. Mind, I’m not sayin’ anythin’ against yehr grandfather, but seems it’s just too big in there. Don’t really see why any one dwarf would need quite as much space as all that. I used t’wonder about kings, but I know one quite well now and you lot don’t take up any more space than anyone else I’ve met.” Bofur wasn’t exactly certain what he was talking about, but Thorin didn’t seem to mind – though Balin was sending him _looks_ again. “I mean even with all yehr flailin’ about at ni-” Bofur cut himself off with a choked off garble, becoming completely unintelligible for a moment.

Oh shite. Oh SHITE! He hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t meant to acknowledge any of that. He and Thorin had seemed to come to a silent agreement not to talk about the night Bofur had walked in on a nightmare, or any of the nights since despite the fact that both knew Bofur could hear everything. Staring at Thorin wide-eyed, Bofur tried to apologize with his eyes, as he refused to allow his tongue any further leeway. It had gotten him in enough trouble for the afternoon.

Thorin held his eyes for a moment, and then shrugged, glancing to the side. Okay, not too much trouble then. He was going to need to get better at keeping his mouth shut if he wanted to keep safeguarding the king.

At Thorin’s words, Bofur inclined his head respectfully, hefting his mattock in hand, waiting for Thorin to lead the way from here on out. Falling into step with Balin behind Thorin, a sombre air falls over the three of them. There possibly should have been a ceremony, but there was too much to be done in Erebor for there to be such pomp and circumstance over so simple a thign as opening the royal chambers.

When they reached the doors, Bofur stepped out in front of Thorin again. With a grin and a bow, Bofur pushed open the doors. Once again made a grand gesture with his hand, bending at the waist, almost losing his hat in the process.

Bofur clapped his hand to his head, stopping the slide of his hat, and straightened quickly. Just in time to see Thorin freeze in the middle of the door to what was supposed to be his rooms. The king just stood there, transfixed, his breath hitching in his chest.

“Thorin? Laddie?” Balin moved closer, his eyes worried as he watched Thorin carefully.

When Thorin tok a shaky step back, Bofur stepped closer himself, his eyes wary. He looked between the room and Thorin, his jaw tightening as he noted where Thorin’s gaze seemed to be transfixed. The gold. An icy finger of unease went down his spine.

Mahal help them. Why had no one thought about this? That damned wizard! He’d said-

“Thorin!” The cry escaped Bofur when Thorin stumbled back. He hadn’t even been aware he was moving until he was behind the kneeling, heaving figure of his king. Reaching out, Bofur laid a hand carefully on Thorin’s back, rubbing a half circle, before snatching his hand back again as the muscles hunched further under his touch.

How was he supposed to protect Thorin from himself? From curses that were supposed to have been lifted before the meddler had run off with their hobbit.

“Strip it!” The order sounds like it was torn from Thorin’s throat.

Bofur winced, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. “What are ye-”

“I want it stripped! Every scrap of gold! I want it out of there!”

Bofur’s eyes darted to Balin, his hands flashing signs in Iglishmek. ‘ _Should we call the wizard? He said he had lifted the curse clearly he didn’t do it right.’_

Balin only shook his head in response. “Aye laddie, we’ll make sure it’s all gone.”

Bofur met Balin’s eyes over Thorin’s head. ‘ _Get him away from here. I’ll see to it.’_ Balin signs.

It was Bofur’s turn to nod. Reaching out, he placed his hands delicately on Thorin’s shoulders. “Come on yehr majesty. It’s time t’ go.”

It didn’t matter what Balin said, Bofur still had half a mind to find that damnable wizard and give him a piece of his mind.

“Bofur.”

Just as Bofur was about to turn the corner with Thorin, Balin called his name. Bofur glanced behind him with a frown.

“Leave it laddie, there’s no magic here.”

No magic perhaps but- something was still not right. He wanted so desperately to help, but all Bofur could do was support Thorin on their way back to the infirmary and make sure he took it easy for a bit.

He felt utterly useless, not even able to help a friend let alone protect his king.

~ * ~

_Bofur hadn’t known Thorin could smile like that, or laugh like that for that matter. He wasn’t sure if it had taken the entire Company by surprise, but felt like he had been dropped down a mine shaft._

_It had started with the sword lessons. Bofur couldn’t complain, in fact he was grateful when Thorin had taken Bilbo aside to teach him how to use his weapon. He would have offered earlier, but he didn’t actually have any formal weapons training, and the extent of his sword knowledge he’d already imparted to his friend._

_While it would be a lie to say the lessons didn’t bother him at all, watching Thorin getting closer to Bilbo wasn’t exactly something he wanted to encourage, he did see the wisdom in it. Even if seeing the two of them off alone together made him uncomfortable, made his heart beat erratically in his chest and squeeze painfully, it was ultimately for the best._

_At least that was what he kept telling himself._

_It was relatively easy to do, until Thorin started laughing, and seemed to transform into a completely different dwarrow. Thorin had always been his king, his leader, but the Thorin that laughed at Bilbo’s antics was something completely new._

~ * ~

Bofur had come to realize that Thorin could be many different people. There was Thorin Oakenshield: the dwarf he had trekked across Middle Earth with, dispossessed but noble, a brave warrior that had forged a new life for his people, but was plagued by the bitterness of the many losses suffered. There was Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, who did not make many appearances these days, buried under fear and guilt. Then there was King Thorin: strong and confident, the leader that all the Company had known, multiplied ten-fold by victory. King Thorin who had settled so easily into his role and was bringing Erebor back to its full potential faster than anyone had dreamed possible. Finally, there was Thorin: just plain Thorin who was all of the others, as well as something else entirely. It was Thorin who was plagued by nightmares, just a dwarf who was still grieving after the one he had loved more than life itself. It was Thorin that Bofur understood better than he would ever let on.

King Thorin may have been the dwarf that he had pledged his loyalty to, but it was Thorin himself that Bofur had promised himself to protect to the best of his ability.

After all, who better than one who understood the pain of pining after one that would never be his?

Of course, the problem with pining, as Bofur knew only too well, was that it didn’t tend to do much good. It could trap you, drag you down into darkness and doubt unless you had something, anything, to hold on to and pull you back out. Bofur had had his brother, his cousin, his loyalty to his king, the friendship of Bilbo, and the desire to see the hobbit he loved happy.

Thorin was stuck with the knowledge that he’d asked Bilbo to stay and Bilbo left. He had the responsibilities of a kingdom and- Sure he had Dwalin and Balin, who were great with counsel and serious matters, but it was Bofur’s opinion there was such a thing as being too serious, and Thorin had taken that to a new level.

So it only made sense that Bofur made it his personal mission to bring back Thorin’s smile. He was _good_ at making people laugh.

At least he had thought so before he’d made Thorin his pet project.

He’d never met a dwarf so determined to be brooding and mysterious. It had been weeks, and he hadn’t gotten so much as a chuckle out of the king. Increasingly all he got were dark looks for his efforts. It wasn’t hard to miss the fact that the king was getting tired with his antics.

“Bofur,” Thorin growled, turning his head to meet the other’s eyes, his jaw clenching.

Okay, so gossip while the king was receiving dignitaries wasn’t his best plan.

“Would you just-”

“I know,” Bofur cut in softly, not flinching from the annoyance in Thorin’s eyes. There was more there, and he damn well knew it. “I miss him too.”

There was no need to expand upon it, they both knew who he was talking about. Here in the throne room, with the empty spot at Thorin’s right- well, it was pretty hard to ignore to the ghosts of the sickness.

Thorin fell silent, staring at Bofur hard for a moment. The king sighed, his shoulder’s falling. “I am sorry,” the apology is almost impossible to hear. “I had forgotten you lost a friend as well.” Without another word, Thorin stood from the throne, and headed off to his next meeting.

Falling in behind him, Bofur stared at his back, mind wheeling.

What?

Something important had just happened. He knew it, though he couldn’t quite place the significant just yet. Was that apology to him? Or for driving Bilbo away?  Either way, it was more of a response than he’d gotten so far.

Well, at least he was getting somewhere.

~ * ~

_He had known he was in love with Bilbo since the company had made it to the Misty Mountain, he’d just never been able to find the right time to talk to Bilbo about it. Their friendship was so natural, that part of Bofur hadn’t wanted to risk ruining it. At first it was because he was one of the few who actually accepted Bilbo was part of the company. After everyone else had accepted him, Bofur had been worried that if he told Bilbo about his feelings, he would lose his friend. Bilbo’s smile and sharp wit made the long road bearable, and he didn’t want to lose that._

_Of course it was all a moot point now with Thorin’s eyes lingering on the hobbit, and Bilbo’s blatant teasing and flirting back. He’d waited too long. Now he was going to have to content himself with the friendship he’d been afraid of losing  - no matter how deeply he longed for Bilbo to be in his arms and to make good on some of his rather suggestive jokes._

_His only consolation was the fact that Bilbo still retired with his family at the end of the day, and seemed to prefer their company over that of Thorin’s. He wasn’t certain how much longer that was going to last though, not with the increased flirting. Still, he had one or two things with Bilbo over Thorin, and he had every intention of using them to his advantage._

_“Yeh look like a lord surveyin’ ‘is lands from a throne,” Bofur grinned at Bilbo. He nudged the hobbit with an elbow, encouraging him to slide over so he could plop himself down._

_“I would make a very poor lord I think,” Bilbo tilted his head to look up at him, a wry grin dancing across his lips. “With clothing that hardly fits, and a waistcoat without buttons,” he sighed wistfully, resting the tip of his pipe against his lips. “A very sorry lord indeed.”_

_He had noticed, the loosening of Bilbo’s clothes, that they now seemed to hang off his frame. Bombur had lost a fair amount of weight as well, and Bofur was equally concerned for both of them. Still, he had been trying to follow the plan of passing along food to the hobbit when they had some to spare, but it was getting harder with their stores being depleted. It had gotten to the point that Bofur had started giving Bilbo more at supper, which was difficult to do without him noticing. Very sharp eyes their burglar had._

_Still, nothing more could be done without bringing the entire company in on it, so Bofur laughed and leaned back against the Bilbo’s tree and looked down at the hobbit. “Oh I don’t know about that. I’ve seen some very sad lords in my day. If yeh ask me, what makes a truly great lord is his generosity.” He pulled his pipe out, and sent a very pointed look toward the smoke curling out of Bilbo’s._

_A grin curled around his pipe, and Bilbo chuckled, gripping the stem of the pipe in his teeth as he fished around in his mostly ruined coat. “Enough of your empty flattery,” he tutted and flapped his hand at Bofur. “I’ll have you know I don’t have much left.” He pulled out his tobacco pouch and looked at it forlornly._

_There was a moment where Bofur almost ruined it all, almost opened his mouth and protested that his flattery wasn’t empty. It had never been empty. But just as his mouth opened, he caught Bombur’s pointed stare, and quickly changed his words. “The wizard has enough, and I know yeh know exactly how to get more off ‘im,” Bofur winked, accepting the pouch with gratitude_

_“All right. You’ve got what you want from me.” Bilbo sat up straighter, his hands fluttering in his lap. “My turn now.”_

_Letting out an exaggerated groan, Bofur tossed the pouch back at Bilbo. “I jest sat down. Haven’t even had a chance t’ light my pipe yet. Can’t yeh give a lad a break?” He was teasing of course, and Bilbo knew it._

_Huffing, the hobbit crossed his arms over his chest, his feet twitched where they were crossed, as if he were actually tapping his foot impatiently. “Don’t give me that nonsense,” he lifted a hand to shake a finger pointedly under Bofur’s nose. “You have Bombur taking care of the cleaning up for you. I heard you say it was so you could help me.” Bilbo’s annoyance melted into amusement and he snatched Bofur’s pipe right out of his hand. “So it’s a good thing you haven’t lit this yet. You can have it after.”_

_A mischievous smirk now flitted across Bofur’s face, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Sharp eyes, sharp fingers, and a sharp tongue. Yeh’re quite skilled Master Baggins, though I do wonder when yehr skill with that sharp sword will catch up with the rest.”_

_That got the splutter of indignation Bofur had wanted. With a smug puff on his pipe, Bofur straightened as well. Lifting a hand, he caught his cousin’s eye. Bifur looked around and nodded. No one was paying too much attention to them. Bofur had finally given in to Bilbo’s request to teach him_ Iglishmêk. _Just because he had though, didn’t mean he wanted the others to find out just yet. He was well aware that there was only so much he could do before Bilbo wanted to show off his new knowledge, and they were nearing the end of that grace period now, but he wanted to teach the hobbit as much as he could before he was ordered to stop._

_Really what he was doing was practically treason but he had high hopes that Thorin would overlook it, considering it was Bilbo. A plus of his king being head over heels for his best friend, but also a downside in that his leader was in love with the same person as him._

_There was no way he could possible win a battle for Bilbo’s heart, though he might have thought about it he knew it was pointless._

_“All right, let’s practice then.”_

_He really was getting quite good, though his gestures were more fluid than they ought to be, blending into each other. Still, he could now hold a conversation with Bifur quite easily, provided his cousin kept his signs slow and small, instead of flailing about as he usually did. Really, it was good for both of them. At least, that’s how Bofur justified it to himself._

_Bilbo’s attention had been divided for a bit, and suddenly he stopped. Glancing across the fire to where Thorin, Balin and Gloin were currently locked in conversation, Bilbo frowned._

_Bofur followed his gaze, but he already knew what Bilbo was frowning about. Thorin had been watching them for a while now. Only half his attention was on them though, Bofur had realized that after he first noticed the lingering gaze, otherwise he would have stopped them much sooner. And he wouldn’t have that dumfounded look of astonishment as Bilbo very carefully does what Bofur had tried to warn him against doing for the time being._

_Here it was, he was doomed._

_…Or not?_

_Honestly Bofur had expected at least a little anger on Thorin’s part, but instead there was just a smile and…Thorin was talking back to Bilbo?_

_He eyes Thorin warily as Bilbo reveals their little secret. It had gone against everything he had been taught as a youngster, but it still felt right to teach it to Bilbo. Now it was time to see if he would actually be punished for the treason he had committed. For a moment their eyes meet, and Bofur is stunned to find no anger, no recrimination in Thorin’s eyes, only amusement and approval._

_Bilbo’s sputtering interrupted Bofur’s surprise._

_“Why that- I can’t believe he would say that! I’m only just getting the hang of this. Calling me terrible.”_

_Bofur had to work very hard not to burst out laughing. Bilbo leaned in close and asked him how to properly sign a response._

_Reaching out, Bofur wrapped his hands around Bilbo’s, and carefully guided him through a retort. It was not even remotely close to what Bilbo had asked him for. Leaning back in satisfaction, he turned his eyes to Thorin to watch his response to that little joke._

_It’s all too much. As soon as surprise registered on Thorin’s face, his eyebrows shooting up and disappearing beneath his hair, Bofur exploded into laughter. Clutching his sides as Bilbo turned a lost look toward him._

_“What did you just get me to say?”_

_There is no hope of being able to explain. Bibo’s annoyance only made Bofur laugh harder, his hat falling off his head as he rolled back. He knew he was playing with fire, but if he hadn’t been charged with treason for teaching Bilbo_ Iglishmêk _in the first place, he couldn’t help but wonder just how far he could push it._

_Bilbo thumped him on the shoulder with an indignant squawk, and Bofur finally fell off his perch with a shout._

_“I can’t believe you! What exactly did I say? Bofur? Stop laughing and tell me this instant!”_

_So he wasn’t going to get charged with treason, it seemed like he was still going to be murdered by Bilbo for making him insult Thorin._

_It was definitely worth it though._

~ * ~

Something was wrong.

Bofur had gotten into a rather solid routine as he had gotten used to the guarding business and all the duties that entailed. He’d become familiar enough with it all that he knew he had to pay attention when his hackles rose. Guarding was a serious business, and being head of the King’s Guard even more so – especially in the turbulent times so soon after reclaiming Erebor. He couldn’t exactly place what it was. Slowing his pace, Bofur tried to place what exactly it was that had put his instincts on high alert.

Nori had passed along some rather disturbing rumors that he’d been collection. There were rumblings of discontent in the lower halls, rumours and gossip about Thorin’s fitness to be king.

Fuckin’ idiots! Lot of morons with too much wind in their pipes, that’s what they were. There was no dwarf more fit to rule than Thorin, direct descendent of Durin the Deathless, their first king’s bloods in his veins. Bofur would sing his praises till he was hoarse, if anyone would be willing to listen for that long.

But then- that pack of muttering malcontents might be able to explain his unease…

As Bofur rounded the corner that would bring him to the base of the stairs leading up to the king’s chambers, he paused. A frown creased his brow as he caught sight of the guard standing watch. The guard looked…That was not one his lads. Sure he was wearing the uniform, dressed appropriately and all that, but Bofur knew every dwarrow in the King’s Guard. He had picked them all personally for Mahal’s sake. Tonight it was supposed to be young but vigilant Nár on duty, and he was not nearly so stocky as the ‘guard’ standing there.

With an inward sigh, Bofur allowed himself a brief moment to mourn the death of his peaceful morning before resigning himself to his fate.

With an _outward_ sight, Bofur pulled his mattock from its loops and rested it on his shoulders in a casual manner as he approached the imposter. Stepping lightly, Bofur crept closer and the bloody idiot who’d replaced Nár had no idea until Bofur was upon him. What kind of guard was he even trying to be? His back was turned, facing away from the hall and looking up the staircase.

Definitely conspiracy material here. Lucky for him their look out was useless. Flipping his mattock, Bofur held the pointed tip to the side of the imposter’s head, and cleared his throat.

“’Scuse me,” Bofur said, pleasantly enough and the other dwarf spun to face him. The imposter was forced to cut his motion short, or risk getting the back end of Bofur’s hammer to the throat. Bofur pressed it in anyways, until the lad backed straight into the wall trying to avoid it.

“Now, what have yeh done with Nár _utha fundul_? And what are yeh plottin?” Bofur continued, disregarding any further politeness. “And do try ta be quick about it mind, I’m not a patient dwarf when someone’s tryin’ ta hurt my king.”

It was a good thing he hadn’t actually expected a response, because he didn’t get one.

Bofur leaned in closer, pressing the sharp point into the softness of the imposter’s beard. “Is that so?” he asked amiably, as if the lad had actually responded. He got a response to _that_.

The dwarf responded in Khuzdul insults, throwing in _Erebor has been inherited by another mad king,_ and oh, that was more than enough.

Quickly, Bofur drew his weapon back. The imposter made a motion to grab for his axe once he was freed, but he got no further than a hand on the hilt before the flack of Bofur’s mattock smashed into the side of his helmeted head, sending him sprawling and completely down for the count. “If yehr not goin’ ta be helpful, yeh’ll have ta excuse me,” Bofur spoke to the unconscious body.

Without further delay, Bofur stepped over the prone dwar and scaled the stairs up the main hall of the royal wing, mattock held with both hands in front of him. Warily, he made his steps as light as possible again, worry seizing his heart. He had no idea how long ago Nár had disappeared, and no idea the damage that could have been wrought. He’d failed in his duty. Thorin could already be dead. He could be fighting for his life! While he didn’t hear anything, Bofur still feared the worse.

Anxiety got the better of him, and Bofur dashed up the last few steps to be immediately met with four more dwarves, their backs to him concentrating on Thorin’s locked door.

Thank Mahal of oblivious idiots.

“Oi!” Bofur shouted for their attention. “Where do you think yehr goin eh?” It wasn’t much of a question, Bofur didn’t really care for their answer, he just needed their attention-

And hoo did he get it.

All four rounded to face him. Bofur stood up straight, mattock at the ready. They were armed and armored under their tunics, but luckily none wore the emblem of the King’s Guard so Bofur could safely bet that they hadn’t disposed of any more of his guards. Not that that was much consolation really. Two had swords and two had axes, and all looked completely at ease. Didn’t take a genius to figure out they were fighters, but at least they weren’t professional assassins.

 _‘Praise the little things,’_ he groused to himself.

“I’m afraid that room’s off limits. His Majesty is sleepin’ and we wouldn’t want ta disturb him now, would we?”

One of the dwarves sneered, and Bofur tightened his grip. They didn’t bother speaking back to him, just like the imposter at the steps, so Bofur didn’t exactly have much time to form a plan. Four against one…those weren’t exactly the best odds, but as long as he kept them from Thorin’s door things should be fine…right?

Bofur suddenly wished he had throwing knives, or that he had paid attention when Kíli was learning his bow, a projectile would be great right about now. But ah- two of them stepped closer. Bofur scraped his boot against the stone, shifting his weight to get into a better stance.

“All right lads. I’m willin’ te forget all ‘bout this wee indiscretion if yeh get on yehr way, nice and peaceful now…” He tried. Mahal knew he tried.

One of the swordsmen spat at his feet and charged the last few steps toward him instead. This cued the other three into unfortunate action and Bofur immediately lifted his weapon to block the sword coming down to cleave him in two.

Well that had worked splendidly! Now all he had to do was keep himself alive.

He pushed the blade from him and-

_Sword. Sword! Sword Sword SWORD!_

Twisting his torso, Bofur managed to side step the second blade, which at least got him out of the way of the charging axe. Stumbling back, he ran into the wall and had a brief moment to see the four would-be assassins stumble over each other to get at him.

The swords were lighter weapons, which made their wielders faster. He _really_ needed to get those out of his beard first. At least the two axe wielding dwarves seemed to be clumsier in the confined space.

Tensing, he dodged the nearly singing metal and it sparked off stone. He ducked from a sloppy side swipe only to dance back once more. The edge of a sword slid down the chest of his armor and he was infinitely thankful that only forceful stabs would be getting anywhere near to penetrating his clothing.

Swinging his weapon in a wide arc, he managed to get them to back off a bit, but an axe was coming at him alarmingly fast anyways. Using the momentum of his swing, Bofur spun directly into the side of the second axeman, stumbling as he forced them both to the ground. His grip slipped on his mattock, so he improvised a bit and drew one hand away to punch his downed foe right in the nose.

The dwarf shouted and shoved at him. Bofur rolled away to get back to a knee, gripping his weapon once again with both hands. “Terribly sorry,” he snarked. “I’m quite clumsy it seems. Don’t know what it is really. I seem te trip over me own feet.”

His banter let the now bloody dwarf get back to his feet, and all four rushed him again. Flipping his mattock horizontally, he blocked a sword once more, but this time shoved back at them all with his strength and sent two on their asses by surprise.

It was comical really - as long as you weren’t involved in the life threatening situation that is.

“Dear me, looks like yeh have the same affliction!” he huffed as he approached his downed foes and lifting his hammer high over his head. One was scrambling to his feet, but the nearest couldn’t get away fast enough. Bofur anchored him with a boot and swiftly brought the flat of his mattock down with all his might on the middle of his foe’s chest. With a sickening crack, his struggle ceased.

One down.

He grunted and looked down at the dead dwarf. Armor like his was no match for the brute force of a stone cleaving hammer. “Best be careful lads,” Bofur said coldly as he lifted his mattock back up into a defensive stance. “Serious ailment like that might cost yeh yehr lives.”

It was a good thing he had defended, because in the next instant he found himself blocking an axe. This time he could feel his hand go numb with the force of it, the blade embedding itself into the hilt of his mattock.

Oooooh, that one _was_ mad. Made it personal had he? Well, it was their own fault really.

Gritting his teeth, Bofur twisted instead of pushing and wrenched the axe from the fists of its wielder none too gently. The dwarf screamed in anger and pain, stumbling back, clutching at his wrist. Broken. Good-

_Shite-_

A hiss sizzled on his tongue as pain burned into his thigh. Falling to one knee, Bofur braced himself with his weapon and grunted. Shite again! He wasn’t paying enough attention or something- how did he even get a sword…Bugger it all, it didn’t matter really. All that mattered now was that he had a stab wound in his thigh and two and a half more enemies to decommission. _Fuck._

Fortunately for him, the would-be assassins seemed determine to underestimate him, or overestimated the unwieldy nature of his weapon. The idiot lingered, a fraction of a second too long. Without further ado, and a quick pained shout, Bofur leaned back and swung the pick side of his mattock up and directly into the soft bone of the cocky bastard’s skull.

Two down. One and a half to go.

He was puffing for breath now, but he couldn’t slow down yet. With a rank of the handle, he freed his weapon from the pulpy remains of his attack. Blood oozed down the metal, wood, and leather grip. Bofur coughed as a metallic tang entered his mouth and settled on his face.

Fuck! A cut in the fabric was one thing, but there was no way the laundress was going to get that much blood out of his tunic. He was sure to get an earful about it.

Later though, he’d have to worry about that later.

Bofur quickly surveyed his surroundings. Two bodies on the ground, one dwarf cradling his wrist in his downtime and…where was the other-? Oh great! At Thorin’s door, looking for a way in!

“Oi!” Bofur shouted and spun on his knees to face his last able-bodied foe. “That door is off limits, or are yeh deaf?” He used his words as a distraction as he reached for the conveniently fallen axe. Hefting it in both hand, he wasted no time in slinging the thing across the room with all his strength.

The dwarf in question had just barely turned when the axe screeched and sparked across the stone, startling him enough to ty and jump to avoid it, and only managing to trip himself up, crashing to the ground with a surprised shout and a string of angry Khuzdul curses.

Grimacing, Bofur placed the head of his mattock on the floor and used it like a cane to ease his way back to his feet. “Keep it down yeh right buffoon. His Majesty’s not been sleepin’ so well of late, if yeh must know, and I’d be loathe te wake ‘im fehr the likes o’ yeh,” he growled as he steadied himself finally. There were probably not his brightest words of battle banter, but at least they seemed to do the trick.

A shout to the right was the only warning he had before he was tackled to the floor by a broken-wristed beserker. The air was practically man-handled from his lung with the impact.

Bofur lamented all the time he’d wasted even trying to stand in the first place, seeing as he just ended up on the ground again. Regardless, meaty fingers were trying to wrap around his throat, and that just _wasn’t_ in the plan this morning.

Reaching up, Bofur grabbed at the wrists trying to strangle him. Rocking his body, he managed to get his knees between him and the rock solid weight of the bastard to try and push the arsehole off. He let go of the wrists to brace himself against the stone.

With a monumental shout, Bofur pushed his legs up and flipped the assailant over his head, sending him tumbling and crashing in the sharp edges of the statue of Durin the Deathless.

Thank goodness for prideful, showy kings, and praises unto Durin and his line of valiant blood! Three down, and Bofur would never doubt exhibitionist tendencies of the royal lineage ever again, thank you very much.

One left, and that last annoyance was already back up to his feet. That just wasn’t fair now was it? Snagging his mattock, Bofur sprawled out on the ground to get closer and swung the pick at the dwarf’s thankfully well in range feet, and toppled him once again.

“Would yeh just stay down?!” He snarled and crawled to his rolling adversary, punching his shoulder back to the floor when he attempt to get up yet again. With another brain jarring hit to the skull, the dwarf was just dazed enough to allow Bofur to get the head of his mattock pressed squarely into his sternum. He used his mattock, and his own weight to hold the bastard down for good, and then struggled to his feet once more.

“Death to the mad line of Durin!” His fallen foe managed to spit out.

“Now-” Bofur started, but his words were interrupted by the swish of a door opening.

Thorin was there, in his doorway, only half dressed, somehow managing to look both bemused and grave at the same time.

“Ah, Yehr Majesty,” Bofur started before Thorin can say a word. Resolutely ignoring the tensing of Thorin’s shoulders as the king surveyed the carnage in his halls. “Sorry ‘bout the mess. Didn’t mean te wake yeh. I’ll get this all spruced up in no time.”

The dwarf under Bofur’s mattock struggled, swinging his legs wildly, trying to push the weight off his chest. Bofur sighed, exerting just a _little_ more pressure, just enough to steal the bastard’s breath away.

Silence hung in the air a moment as Thorin glanced around the hall. There’s a moment when his eyes land on Bofur, and the guard could have sworn he saw a slight nod of the king’s head, a smile tugging just at the corner of his mouth. “I have heard Nori has some trick if you need help getting information on that one.”

Bofur stared in shock at the open approval he heard in Thorin’s voice, and the way he looked honestly _impressed_. Sure Thorin _had_ appointed him head of the guard but- it was still something to be the subject of Thorin’s approval.

“Oh aye yehr majesty.” Bofur’s face broke into a bright grin. “I wouldn’t dream of taking Nori’s fun. He’s got two ta play with in fact, there’s another one conked out at the base of the stairs.” It was almost as if he _wasn’t_ splattered in blood, oozing some still himself and leaning his weight on a support that was currently crushing the breath out of someone.

“You are going to make my life boring Bofur.”

He had to blink and lean closer to Thorin to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Either he had gone completely mad, or that- That _was_ a smile! Well, almost a smile. Just there twitching again at the corners of Thorin’s lips.

“Oh? Did yeh want a crack at ‘em then yehr majesty? I’ll let Nori know ta keep ‘em mostly in one pie- Would yeh _stop_ squirming!” Bofur’s attention was stolen by the handle of his mattock jerking in his hand again, throwing him off balance and causing his leg to twinge. Grunting, he leaned back, shouldn’t have lifted any of the pressure in the first place, and resettled the majority of the weight on his weapon and thus on the fallen dwarf’s chest as well.

Thorin shook his head with a slight roll of his shoulders that Bofur could only assume was meant to be a shrug. “I do not have as much enjoyment after the initial battle.” He informed Bofur solemnly, though there is a difference in his voice that suggests, only suggests mind, mild amusement. “I shall leave you to your fun then.”

There it is! Just before the door closes Bofur is positive that Thorin’s lips almost pulled into a smile.

So close!

Okay so the circumstances weren’t really the best, what with a plot to kill the king and all, but Thorin had smiled! It was a shame that he’d had to resort to _this_ to get it, but that was a victory nonetheless! Finally a smile! (Or near enough a smile that he was going to count it).

Well, at least that was progress.

Bofur turned his eyes down to the wheezing dwarf at his feet. “Now, what am I goin’ ta do about _yeh_.”

~ * ~

_It had started on the Carrack with a slightly stunned look in their leader's eyes as he had stepped away from his embrace with the hobbit. That was the first inkling any of them had. It was made more obvious in the softening of Thorin’s eyes as they stood on the edge of that great rock looking toward the single peak that was their lost home. Thorin had gazed first upon the Lonely Mountain and then at Bilbo with the exact same longing in his eyes._

_That was the first moment that Bofur realized what he truly wanted-_ _and that he was never going to get it._

_At first it was slow_ _and he could hold on to his illusions_ _. Bofur enjoyed the awkward courtship dance as much as the rest of his companions, but that was only because he knew that Bilbo had no idea what Thorin’s change in attitude truly indicated._

_As his best friend Bofur was in a unique position. Bilbo confided in him that it was nice to finally be accepted by all of the company and that Thorin’s friendship meant a great deal to him. He supposed he could tell Bilbo what was actually going on but- Well if he did that, what would they do for entertainment?_

_Not to mention the fact that making Bilbo aware of Thorin’s interest might put the hobbit completely out his reach forever._

_“The touching...that’s confusing,” Bilbo admitted when they sat together by the fireside. “I know it’s how you lot show acceptance,” he waved his hand around, shaking his head slightly. “But I can hardly keep my skin on it seems, jumping out of it every time one of you lot do it in passing, let alone Thorin. I suppose you’re used to it though,” he sighed, propping his head on his hand, staring into the fire._

_Bofur leaned back, puffing on his pipe with a small smirk. “Oh aye we’re used ta it that’s fer sure. But we’re also amused by yer reactions ta it,” he chuckled. “Thorin too.”_

_“I- you- all of you?” Bilbo spluttered, looking over at Bofur as if he had just been betrayed in the worst possible way imaginable._

_“Well we need some kind of entertainment on this trip after all,” Bofur snickered. “We lost our instruments in the goblin tunnels. It’s just not the same without something ta amuse us.”_

_Perhaps he had gone a little too far._

_Bilbo had wandered off muttering to himself, and Bofur hadn’t seen him again until it was time to set watches. His meddling hadn’t actually achieved anything either. Despite his teasing_ _-  his half-hearted attempts to sour Bilbo’s moods toward Thorin -_ _Thorin continued to seek out Bilbo, and the hobbit did not seem to be holding any sort of grudge. In fact, Bilbo seemed to seek out Thorin just as much._

_They joined each other on watches. Bilbo would approach Thorin when no one else, even those closest to him, dared to go near when their king got into one of his_ moods _. Then there was the blatant flirting. The two of them would go at it, with the looks, and the grins and the- It was embarrassing, that’s what it was, the two of them were just...embarrassing._

_His one consolation was that Bilbo had given no indication that he felt half as strongly as Thorin did. There was definitely the possibility that maybe- maybe Bilbo wouldn’t end up with the king. Just the slightest possibility that he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his life watching the two of them making eyes at each other._

_Mahal knew he had prayed for that._

~ * ~

It had taken two weeks to wring all the information they could out of their prisoners. Bofur had left most of the extraction to Nori, and Dwalin had volunteered to help. Bofur was fine with fighting and protecting Thorin, but it was a little different trying to extract information; it was probably best to leave it to the experts.

The information they got was not at all comforting. It was to be expected, some unease with a kingdom being rebuilt, but to have an organized movement, large enough to send four after the king…Well it was a tad bit worrying to say the least.

“They claim that they’re seeking revenge for the dwarves of the Iron Hills that fell before Erebor while we were behind the wall.” Nori delivered the news softly, almost as if it was inconsequential, but it was clear that the former thief was just as tense as the others in the room.

Bofur, Nori, Dwalin, Bifur (those in charge of defense of the city as well as the king), and Balin as well. The rest of the Company were either busy, or it had been deemed unwise to share the information with them (Fíli and Kíli would just get in trouble if they knew).

“Aye. There was some nonsense about the curse of Thror, and some shit about how they aren’t going to let another mad king bring ruin down on us all,” Dwalin growled, his arms crossed over his chest as he glared at a spot in the center of the table.

Bofur exhaled sharply, leaning back in his seat, his fingers drumming uneasily on the table. “He can’t know,” he said softly, lifting his eyes to meet his friends’ stares. “Thorin I mean. He can’t know, the reason that is. Obvious he knows that someone tried t’ kill ‘im but…he can’t know the reason.” He turned his eyes to Balin, knowing the elder dwarf would understand what he meant, why he said it.

Nodding his head, Balin spoke up in agreement. “It’s probably for the best. We all know that the madness is lifted, but Thorin-” The soft sigh said more than words ever could.

It was bad enough that Thorin still had nightmares, though they were quieter now, and often he could only tell by the glimpse of the bed chamber he got when Thorin came out in the morning. The fear was still there, in the careful way Thorin held himself, in his complete avoidance of worked gold; the fear of madness lingered, despite Gandalf’s assurances that the curse had been lifted. If Thorin found out about this…well Bofur wasn’t exactly certain what would happen, but it probably wouldn’t be good.

“How many others subscribe to this belief?” Balin asked into the silence that had fallen. “Did you get names? Numbers? We can’t have this spreading too far. There’s no founding to it.”

The hilt of Nori’s dagger tapped uneasily against the table, drawing everyone’s eyes. “It’s not small,” the vice-captain of the Kings Guard said at last. Metal twirled in his fingers, and he began to dig at the dirt under his fingernail – a habit Bofur had noted usually indicated his discomfort with a situation. “But not overly large either. We’ve got some names to start with…but it will time to do it all quietly.”

“Take the time then.” Bofur waved his hand, shrugging a little as the words left his mouth. “We’ve got enough guards now. Yeh jest make sure yeh get every last one. In the meantime, I’m sure we can all managed t’ keep his majesty safe. Yeh know, jest so long as he doesn’t get it in his head to go on another quest te rid another lost kingdom of whatever foul thing that’s decided t’ take up residence in it.”

He grinned cheekily as Dwalin cursed at him, and Balin shook his head. “Don’t even think it laddie,” Balin responded dryly, though his lips did quirk up in a little smile.

It took another two months to root out the rest of the dwarves in on the conspiracy. Bofur knew it was by no means the last attempt that would be made on Thorin’s life, but at least one conspiracy had been rooted out. The dissenters had all been rounded up and shipped back to the Iron Hills for Dain to deal with.

Two months after the conspiracy (four months after Smaug, after Bilbo’s departure) found Bofur up over the gate with Thorin when a raven landed. Of course he could not understand one word of what was being said – he was neither royal nor a keeper of the ravens like Ori – but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was something to do with Bilbo.

He would like to think that he had gotten quite used to reading Thorin’s body language by now. It wasn’t very obvious, Thorin was too composed to let his emotions show openly where others could see him. However, Bofur saw the slight hunching of Thorin’s shoulder, and the tiniest bow of his head forward. Thorin’s hair hid his face from view, but Bofur could well imagine the look in his eyes.

Bilbo wasn’t coming back. There was no question in Bofur’s mind now. He was surprised that the realization didn’t bring more pain with it. His heart twinges, but it is no more than a distant ache, like prodding at a wound almost, but not quite healed. Bilbo wasn’t coming back, he would never see the being that he had given his heart to and…he was more concerned for Thorin’s well-being.

He was used to the knowledge that Bilbo would never be his, if anything, the knowledge that he would never see the hobbit again was almost a relief; he wouldn’t have to see Bilbo and Thorin together anymore and know he couldn’t compete with that. Thorin on the other hand- Thorin had just received confirmation of what he had feared for months.

There was a difference between telling yourself something was hopeless, and having the same presented to you as irrefutable truth.

The raven flew off, and Thorin remained where he was, hands braced on the wall.

Moving closer, Bofur laid a hand gently on Thorin’s shoulder, trying to convey in a single touch what he dared not say out loud. But…if Bilbo was gone for good, what was the harm in telling Thorin the truth? Surely it couldn’t hurt to offer Thorin that comfort, knowing that someone else shared his pain.

He couldn’t do it. Instead, Bofur just squeezed Thorin’s shoulder, letting him know that he wasn’t alone. “It’ll be all right.” Bofur didn’t look at Thorin as he spoke, he focused his eyes on Dale and the mountains beyond. “I know yeh don’t believe me but…it will. Sure it’ll hurt like a bugger fehr a bit but it will fade. Yeh’ll realize that it might always hurt a little, but it ain’t killin’ yeh.” He squeezed Thorin’s shoulder again.

Bofur hadn’t expected a response, so it was no surprise when he didn’t get one. Sometime later – he wasn’t exactly sure how long – Thorin straightened and walked past him without a word. Bofur followed, equally silent, allowing his king to grieve.

Time continued to pass. There was so much to do to rebuild the kingdom that Bofur hardly noticed   the year passing. Day by day, week by week, and month by month it became easier to convince himself that everything was fine without Bilbo. Even without the hobbit, Erebor began to gleam again under Thorin’s guidance, and the mountain finally began to feel like home; a true home.

“How are the new lads shaping up then?” Bofur came up beside Dwalin and looked out over the training room that had taken the better part of two months to clear out and put back together again.

Dwalin swung his head toward Bofur and nodded easily. “You’ve picked out another good batch. They’ll be ready fer active duty in a month or so.”

If there was one thing that Bofur knew, it was his own shortcomings. When he’d accepted the position of head of the King’s Guard, the first thing he had done was go to Dwalin. Being in charge was all well and good, but he didn’t know anything about how to actually _train_ dwarves with weapons. All he knew was what he had had to learn to protect himself, and most of that was just changing how he held his mattock when swinging at rock, to something easier to swing at orcs and goblins with. It hadn’t taking much convincing to get Dwalin to agree to train any new members he selected for the King’s Guard with the rest of the army.

Bofur nodded in response, a smile spreading across his lips. “Good. That’ll be the last batch fehr awhile. Nori’s got his lot all sorted, but I was a few short after that last incident.”

There was a grunt, and the sound of boots scraping over rock as Dwalin shifted his stance in agitation. “That’s been taken care of then?”

“Aye, as far as we know. We should have a bit of peace fehr awhile at least.” There was probably never going to be an end of threats to Thorin’s life, any king’s really, but Bofur was nearly certain that they’d bought themselves at least a year of peace after their last raid. “Speakin’ of what we know, I’m off t’ see Nori, have yeh heard anythin’ yeh think he should know?”

“Nothing that he won’t already know.” Dwalin shook his head.

Once gain Bofur nodded, and grinned in relief. “All right then. I’m off, enjoy yehr bashin’ about.”

“I’ll walk with you, I’m off to the gate now myself.”

Hopefully no news meant that his meeting with Nori was going to be short and sweet, he was supposed to be on duty shortly and he’d left his ridiculous uniform back in his own rooms. Mahal have mercy, thinking about duty rosters, conspiracy, guard duty…this job was turning him too serious!

Nori was already waiting for him in the small room they had stolen for the purpose of their meetings and any other King’s Guard related things – including a quiet place to nap where they couldn’t easily be found.

“You’re late!” Nori declared as soon as Bofur entered the room, letting his feet drop from the table to the floor as he sat forward. “I thought I was going to die of old age! Some of us have important things like napping to do.”

Chuckling, Bofur threw himself down into his chair and shook his head. “Hardly my fault yeh decided to be up half the night now is it? Dwalin said the new lads’ll be ready in about a month.” He grinned at his guard partner. “What’d yeh find out then?”

Nori shrugged, spinning a dagger idly on the table. “Not much. No news of trouble, though Gloin is expecting a caravan in today, so I’ll have my boys keep an eye out.”

Relaxing at the sound of no news, Bofur sighed and laced his fingers together behind his head. “Finally some news I can live with.”

“There is another thing.”

He lifted his eyes to see Nori staring at him in a peculiar way. He seemed uncertain, a little tense but not worried. Bofur leaned forward, looking back at Nori with just as much intensity. “Well are yeh goin’ t’ tell me? Or did yeh jest want t’ act like stone fehr a while more? Don’t tell me yeh’ve gone and fallen asleep where yeh sit!”

Shaking his head, Nori reclined back in his seat lazily. ‘It’s just a rumour really. Can’t really say how credible it is but…there were some rumours a week or so back from some of the boys I have watchin’ the elves. “

All Bofur does in response is lift an eyebrow. Nori was taking his sweet time about this. Which meant either really good news, or really bad. He prayed to Mahal that it was good news. Perhaps about the lads? There hadn’t been much communication from Fíli and Kíli – not that anyone blamed them.

“There might be a hafling travelling with this particular batch of merchants,” Nori says at last.

For once, Bofur is at a loss for words. “What?”

“It’s just a rumour,” Nori repeats, but there’s a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, twitching his beard and moustache.

“Yeh’re not sayin-?”

 “Could be. I haven’t said anything because I don’t really kno-”

There is no way that Bofur wants to wait for Nori to finish talking. Without a word, Bofur jumped to his feet. “Thanks Nori! I’m off!”

“Don’t get-”

Whatever the other had been about to say was lost when the door slammed shut. Bofur practically ran through the halls, trying to remember what Thorin was supposed to be doing that day. Uniform be damned, Thorin needed to hear this. He was the fucking head of the King’s Guard after all, he could always make Lóni stay a bit longer on duty so he could get changed after. Right now he just had to find Thorin.

If he remembered correctly, there had been some mention about inspecting the Eastern slopes today. Which of course was on the exactly opposite side of the mountain where he was; it was great to have a kingdom and all, but it was so fucking big!

He hears a shout just up ahead, someone calling Thorin’s name. Putting on a little extra speed, Bofur rounded the corner to the section of tunnel Thorin was inspecting at the same time that a young dwarrow bent nearly double in front of the king.

“Get some breath in you lad. You can’t deliver a message if you keel over.”

Already Bofur can feel his heart pounding in his chest, and it has nothing to do with his last sprint. A message from the gate? From Balin? A smile began to spread over his face, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

“There’s a Halfling that came in through the front gate, Lord Balin mentioned there may be a chance of burglary?”

Bofur jumped into the air and let out a shout of excitement. Three pairs of eyes whipped around to stare at him – he was going to have to give Lóni a talking to about being on guard, he hadn’t even tried to sneak up on them – the only thing he cared about right this moment was the halfling apparently at the front gate.

He turned his eyes to Thorin, who looked as though someone had smacked him in the back of the head with a mattock, and let out another cry. “He’s back! Thorin he’s back!”

Their burglar had returned home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** This is a scene I wrote based off a snippet that [linddzz](linddzz.tumblr.com) sent to me via a private conversation and most of Thorin's dialogue and actions are hers
> 
> Also a HUGE shout out to [Zinfandel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Zinfandel) for her invaluable help on the big fight scene!


	4. Chapter 4

_Fire had never been something Bofur feared. The stifling heat of the kitchens, the searing heat of the forge, the crushing heat of the depths of the mine, Bofur was no stranger to most kinds of fire. None of his experiences had prepared him for the intensity of dragon fire._

_The very air seemed to blister with every pass of the dragon, the heat building each time with no hope of relief. The flames were so powerful they stole the very air from his lungs and made the air almost solid. Bofur wasn't certain how there could be any screaming, he could hardly muster a sound himself, but screaming there was, screaming in plenty. It was impossible to pick out a single direction that it came from, the sounds filled the air, like the shouting was where the oxygen should be. They were drowning, drowning in the terror of Smaug._

_The sounds of the dragon nearly covered the desperate, wordless sobs of pain beyond all measure._

_Mahal preserve him but Bofur wished that Smaug would roar louder, beat his wings harder, anything to obscure the cries._

_Cries for help, for mercy, though it tore at his heart Bofur could stand those. No. It was the screams of the dying that threatened to completely overwhelm him. He'd never thought a voice could hold that much agony._

_Gritting his teeth, Bofur paddled the boat at the elf's instruction, pulling back hard on his oar as they came to an intersection and nearly capsized as another boat sped through._

_All around them Lake Town burned. Pieces of it cascaded down, sizzling in the cold waters, adding steam to the smoke already swirling in the air, making it near impossible to see. Worse still was the smell. Burning wood, burning clothes with the hint of mustiness still clinging to them, the tang of metal from Smaug himself, all mixed with the scent of cooking meat. Bofur’s stomach clenched in revolt and nausea threatened to overcome him._

_Of all the ways he'd thought he'd go, Bofur had never once thought it would be dragon fire that did him in._

_Strange that. He was part of a quest with the sole purpose to break into a dragon's lair and steal a piece of his hoard. But that had never been Bofur's concern. That had been Bilbo’s job._

_Bilbo._

_Any breath he'd managed to steal rushed out of him. Bofur couldn't help it. He forgot about paddling for a moment, his eyes drawn to the dim shape of the Lonely Mountain, blurry and covered by a haze of smoke. Bilbo. Bilbo was supposed to be in there._

_A great shadow passed over them, and Bofur instinctively ducked, though he knew it wouldn't do him a lick of good._

_Smaug._

_The dragon._

_It all came crashing down again. The shock of the attack had not warn off, but the thoughts he’d been avoiding - focused too much on trying to make sure Fíli, Kíli and the bargeman’s younglings got out alive – rushed in all at once._

_If the dragon was here then that could only mean one thing._

_Bofur's heart froze._

_Bilbo. Bombur. Bilbo. Bifur. Bilbo.Thorin. Bilbo! Bilbo was- It couldn't possibly be. No. But the dragon here meant-_

_Gone? They were gone. Incinerated by the very fire that threatened to smother him now._

_Bofur had half a mind to let it._

_He was never going to see Bilbo again. His family...it was all gone._

_Everything he had ever held dear in the world, gone in an instant and he was powerless to do anything about it. Bofur’s entire world had been up in that mountain, and now it was gone. He would never see it ever again._

~ * ~

How he had fallen for Bilbo Baggins, Bofur couldn’t quite figure out. Sometimes it seemed that for all the time Bofur had known Bilbo, all 10 months of it, fully half that time he had been convinced, for one reason or another, that he would never see the hobbit ever again. Given that, Bofur really should have expected something like this.

If there was one thing that Bilbo Baggins really excelled at, it seemed to be completely defying any and all expectations that anyone, except perhaps the wizard, had for him. So really, Bofur should have seen this coming miles off.

Sure Bilbo had left in the middle of the night without a word to anyone. That was hardly a sign that he was planning on coming back now was it? And that note! Nothing personal in that at all! That hadn’t made a lick of sense to begin with if you thought about it. After all, Bilbo and Thorin had gotten together in Lake Town, and then Bilbo had gotten himself engaged to the king! So, really, he shouldn’t have been running anywhere without any kind of warning. Oh sure the whole getting engaged bit might have been a bit awkward and gone a tad sideways what with Thorin declaring war on everyone and then almost getting himself killed…but Bilbo had stuck around through all of that! So really, Bofur couldn’t be blamed for believing that _this_ time he really _wouldn’t_ be seeing Bilbo again.

Then again, Bofur had once thought that Bilbo had been incinerated by a dragon and that had all turned out all right in the end, the very end that is. So really, he probably should have seen this coming, he should have known that Bilbo was actually _incapable_ of staying gone.

Whether he should have expected it or not, the sight of Bilbo standing in Erebor surrounded by the company hit Bofur so hard it felt like all the air had been forcefully pulled out of his lungs. It took a moment for Bofur to gather himself, to remember how to breathe properly, to get his heart down to a dull pounding rather than an all-encompassing roar that drowned out even his own thoughts.

Where was a dragon when you needed one?

Of course, there hadn’t really been any hope that Bofur could completely control himself. Not with Bilbo in front of him. Not with Bilbo standing there, easy as you like, looking for all the world like he’d never left.

“Yeh bastard!” The words are pulled from him, half angry, half exasperated, and half over joyed. Bofur didn’t think. As soon as his breathing had returned to almost normal, Bofur let out a shout, half surprising himself out of his wordless shock, and pulled Bilbo into a tight embrace. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bofur knew he shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be putting himself through this again. Bilbo was undoubtedly here to see Thorin. But as soon as the small, warm body was in his arms, Bofur forgot all that ‘reason’ stuff, and gave himself over to exceptionally short-sighted feelings.

The scent of sunshine and growing things surrounded him, along with the familiar earthy tang of Bilbo’s favourite pipe weed. It felt like lightening had hit him square in the heart, which had caused little jolts of electricity to gather along every piece of him that had made any sort of contact with Bilbo’s slightly flailing body.

Oh fuck. Oh _fuck_. He was in trouble. Very big trouble. Very very big trouble. Smaug sized trouble. Erebor sized trouble. He didn’t want to let go. Bofur _never_ wanted to let go. He wanted to freeze this moment forever, keep Bilbo in the circle of his arms and forget forever that the moment he let go he would have to watch Bilbo go into Thorin’s arms.

The worst part was, he knew how happy that would make Thorin, how happy it would make the both of them. As much as he wished he could, Bofur couldn’t begrudge either of them that. They deserved the happiness they found in each other.

“Yeh slimy little bastard!” Bofur toned down his voice a little, and the words were filled with more exasperation and affection than any true anger now.

The stammered apology went in one ear and out the other; he wasn’t ready to hear it yet. “What were yeh thinkin’?!” he demanded, and forced himself to take a step back – though he couldn’t make himself release Bilbo entirely, not just yet. Bofur was on a time limit, it would only take Thorin so long to pull himself together. “Tea time is at four!?”

Bilbo squeaked and managed to babble out another apology. Bofur supposed he could show the hobbit a little mercy now, or at least he was willing to actually _acknowledge_ the apology this time.

“Sorry he says!” Bofur scoffed as he gave Bilbo a little shake. He was tempted to pull the hobbit in for another hug, Bofur wanted to keep a hold of Bilbo until Thorin arrived and the truth became unavoidable all over again. Instead, he dropped his hands to his side and flopped his ass into a chair.

He had to create some kind of distance before he managed to do something incredibly stupid and drive Bilbo away again – or make things so awkward he wouldn’t blame Bilbo for not wanting to see him ever again. “Sorry! Can yeh believe it?”

Fortunately, at his question, the rest of the company decided to take the conversation from there, which left Bofur completely free to distract himself with a full tankard of ale, and a full view of Bilbo. Talk turned to the events of the past year, and Bofur let it all wash over him. Bilbo was back. He was well and truly back with every intention to stay and the world finally seemed _right_ again. That special warmth that Bilbo carried with him made everything brighter; it made Bofur’s heart lighter, even though he hadn’t realized it was heavy in the first place.

Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Bilbo had brought Bofur’s heart back with him. And Bilbo looked well. Truly well. Bofur hadn’t seen Bilbo look so good since their first week of the quest. He’d put back on all his hobbit weight, his clothes were impeccable and- really, Bilbo was a step above anything a simple miner like Bofur could ever be. He should really have learned by now that Bilbo Baggins was way too far out of his reach. Really, Bilbo belonged with Thorin, but that didn’t make every time the fact hit Bofur any easier to bear.

“Yeh’re here now!” Bofur chimed in, distracting himself from his own thoughts. The company cheered his declaration, and Bofur had just started to work on putting his smile back on when there was movement in the doorway behind Bilbo. Silence fell like a hammer, and all eyes turned to Thorin lurking in the doorway.

It took all of Bofur’s self-control not to crack a joke, not to make a comment of any kind. Though the rising tension between Bilbo and Thorin was enough to suffocate everyone in the room, Bofur kept his mouth firmly shut.

But Mahal it was awkward!

Suddenly, the only place Bofur wanted to be was anywhere but here. He’d spent a year watching Thorin become more withdrawn, watched as his king and friend practically pined away. It was all well and good to be supportive when the reason for Thorin’s distress was half a world away, but it was an entirely different matter with Bilbo here. Standing right in front of them and doing things to Bofur’s heart that he was fairly certain were not entirely good for his health.

Bilbo was standing right in front of Thorin, and the thrice-damned fool was still holding himself back. If it had been Bofur…

_He rushed to Bilbo, not pausing to consider the implications of his presence. The reason that Bilbo was there was a minor thing compared to the fact that Bilbo was actually_ there _at all. They could exchange the whys and wherefores later. They could fix things properly later. Right at the moment, the only thing that mattered was the fact that Bilbo was standing there, way out there alone, and not in his arms._

_“Bilbo yeh bastard!” All at once the distance was gone. Bofur grabbed Bilbo, hand on his hips, and spun them both around, a wide grin splitting his lips. “Yeh’re a sight fehr sore eyes and make no mistake! What did yeh think yeh were doin’ runnin’ off like that? Yeh nearly killed me, takin’ my heart that far away.”_

_“Bofur!” Bilbo squeaked, his hands gripped Bofur’s ams tightly. “Bofur! Bofur put me down! You put me down right this instant you…you…”_

_If it was possible, Bofur’s grin widened. He shifted his grip and hauled Bilbo full off the ground, and held him tight against him. “No,” he said softly, and shook his head with a devilish smirk. “I don’t think I will,” he hummed. “If I do that, I’m afraid yeh’ll slip away on me again.”_

_There was no way that Bofur could ever grow tired of how expressive Bilbo could be. The hobbit’s nose wrinkled in clear exasperation, but at Bofur’s final words, everything melted away, replaced by a delicate pink flush that reached the very tips of his pointed ears. “You really are an idiot.” Affection filled the hobbit’s voice, his warm eyes softened as he smiled down at Bofur._

_Mahal preserve him! It felt like his heart was going to explode. Bilbo would be the death of him, and a very enjoyable death it would be too, provided he could keep the hobbit in his arms the entire time._

_“I came back. Of course I’m not going to leave. That is if you’re still willing to have me. Though really, I think this display certainly speaks for itself. You do like-“_

_As adorable as Bilbo’s babbling was, there was really only one thing that Bofur wanted at that moment. He wrapped one arm firmly around Bilbo’s waist and held him securely while he cupped the hobbit’s face, interrupting his little tangent. Bofur smiled softly, and carefully coaxed Bilbo’s face down to his, and softly slid their lips together._

_He tasted Bilbo’s soft gasp of surprise, and it took all his control to keep the kiss light. Just a brush of lips, a transfer of soft warmth. Bilbo whimpered slightly, and then the warm weight of Bilbo’s arms settled on Bofur’s shoulders as Bilbo wrapped them around Bofur’s neck._

_With a soft sigh of his own, Bofur parted his lips against Bilbo’s, coaxing them open as he gently set Bilbo on the ground. Only when his lungs started to burn for air did Bofur pull back, and even then, only enough to press his forehead to Bilbo’s. “Welcome home_  amrâlimê,” _he whispered._

_Bilbo reddened again, which only made Bofur chuckle and want to kiss him again. He tilted his head and-_

“Wh-What? What do you-? What on earth was all- Was that? What was that?”

Bofur came back to himself with a start. Thorin was gone, and Bilbo looked like someone had hit him soundly over the head with a rock – something that Bofur was half tempted to do to Thorin at the moment truth be told. The king needed some serious sense knocked into him. Bofur wanted to shout that if Thorin didn’t want Bilbo anymore then Bofur would gladly give it a shot. The problem there was that Thorin very clearly _did_ still want Bilbo, he was just too thick to notice that Bilbo, just as clearly, wanted him too.

Sometimes Bofur thought that Thorin was just determined to end up a tragic hero, even with his happiness _literally_ standing right fucking in front of him. All Thorin had to do was stop being a great brooding moron and take Bilbo into his arms.

Mahal save him from clueless idiots.

“At what point was anyone planning on telling me that I was engaged then?” Bilbo demands.

A ripple of unease travelled around the suddenly silent room. Bofur knew he wasn’t the only one that couldn’t meet Bilbo’s eyes. It hadn’t exactly been a “traditional” engagement, but with what had happened in Lake Town Bofur, along with the others, had just assumed…

‘Well?” Bilbo demanded into the silence.

“We uh,” Bofur cleared his throat and smiled apologetically. There was only so much tense silence he was designed to handle, and he had definitely exceeded his limit for the day. “Well we though yeh already knew. I mean yeh two were already-“

Balin started to shake his head and anything Bofur had been about to say flew out of his mind. He turned toward Balin, starting at him hard, and then his eyes flicked back to Bilbo, a frown furrowing his eyebrows.

No…No. No! There was no way. Absolutely no way. It just wasn’t possible. He couldn’t have been mistaken! It had been as clear and sharp as a diamond. Bilbo and Thorin had definitely- there was no other explanation! In Lake Town they had…Balin caught Bofur’s eye and gave a very firm and deliberate shake of his head.

Bofur’s mouth fell open and he looked back to Bilbo, openly gaping.

“We were what?”

The cool note in Bilbo’s voice made Bofur’s mouth snap shut. He turned toward Balin again. This couldn’t…they’d definitely… “No,” Bofur said softly, still shaking his head. “Yeh weren’t already…? Yeh weren’t already together?” The world as Bofur knew it began to rapidly crumble around him.

No.

The word slammed into him, making Bofur momentarily speechless.

No. No they hadn’t been together. Not until the engagement and even then Bilbo hadn’t known?

“Yeh accepted the mithril!” Bofur snapped his fingers and grinned, pulling out something he was certain he could use to rebuild everything he’d thought he knew. If they hadn’t been together then…

Baling shook his head again, and Bilbo got defensive and…And they hadn’t been together. The entire time…How the heck had Bilbo not realized?

“It’s bloody mithril isn’t it? Yeh though mithril was-“

It was probably…no it was definitely a good thing that Balin cut him off before Bofur could properly get onto a tangent. Friendship? Who the fuck took mithril as a gift of mere friendship!? The fucking thing could definitely buy Bilbo’s Shire at _least_ five times over. Friendship?????

Bofur kept returning to the same thing over and over: Thorin and Bilbo hadn’t been together. They hadn’t been together. At no point had they ever actually been together. For over a year he had believed…he’d given up! He’d thrown down the pick, stepped aside, supported Thorin through his heart break, and they’d never even officially been together?

He could have fought! There’d been no need to step aside.

Never…they’d never been together. Not ever.

~ * ~

_Things had stopped being amusing a good long while ago. It wasn’t that Thorin had gotten better at flirting, he was still ridiculously obvious and very bad at flirting; no, it was that Bilbo had started to flirt back. It was just as ridiculous, just as painfully obvious, and even more painful for Bofur than watching Thorin at the beginning of it all. It was no longer that pain of second hand embarrassment, but the pain of the dawning realization that he didn’t stand a chance, and never would; there was no way he could compete with Thorin Oakenshield._

_But that didn’t mean he had to give up teasing his friend._

_He really should leave well enough alone, but Bofur had never known when to quit. Nope. He would much rather poke at his open wounds and see how much he could bleed before he just gave in. So far he’d never lost, and he aimed to keep it that way._

_Even though he knew it was hopeless._

_Slinging an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders, Bofur leaned down and peered down at what he was doing. “Cookin’ us up a feast there?” He grinned, not bothering to stifle his laugh at Bilbo’s surprised squawk._

_“Just what do you think you’re doing Bofur? Get off me you great oaf I’m trying to cook here!”_

_“Yeh know, I had noticed that actually,” he chuckled, straightening and patting Bilbo on the head. This of course earned him a muttered curse and a flapping hand. “So whatcha cookin’ up?” Bofur cooed, leaning over the pot and taking a big, exaggerated whiff._

_“Stew. It’s always stew and you know that.” Bilbo leaned in to smell the soup as well, and began muttering under his breath about spices. “What I wouldn’t give for just a nice bit of fresh basil. It would make this so much better. And some thyme! There’s so much I could do with some basil and some thyme.”_

_A smile spread as Bofur watched Bilbo fussing over the pot. He couldn’t help the warming in his heart, the way it swelled in his chest with such affection that he thought he might explode with it and be glad. He wanted to just reach out and wrap his arms around Bilbo and pull him back against him. To press kisses to every part of the hobbit he could reach. Bilbo would probably put up a fuss, slapping at him and squirming and calling him an oaf or an idiot, but with affection in his voice, and that special smile tugging at his lips that Bofur had seen directed at Thorin countless times._

_But instead, he kept his hands to himself, only grinning when Bilbo shot a look over his shoulder._

_“So what did you want Bofur? Surely not to just manhandle me?”_

_Bofur’s eyebrows rose until they disappeared under the rim of his hat. Manhandle?  Bilbo had no idea how much he wished that were true, that he could manhandle the hobbit, and ensure that he would enjoy it. “Oh nothin’ really. Jest lettin’ yeh know that his royal broodiness has taken first watch.”_

_The surprise and quick flash of red at the very tips of Bilbo’s ears should have broken Bofur, but he was nothing if not skilled at looking at the bright side of things – also willfully ignorant in some things, it was easier if he pretended that expression was for him instead of_ because _of him._

_“Why- why would I care about that?” Bilbo managed, almost managing to remain completely calm._

_Sitting down on a nearby stump, Bofur looked directly at Bilbo, and smirked when he caught Bilbo’s eyes. “Oh I don’t know. Why don’t yeh tell me?”_

_Scoffing, Bilbo shook his head and began to sputter. “What? There’s nothing to tell? What are you trying to say Bofur?”_

_“Oh nothin’.” Bofur laced his fingers together and but his hands behind his head. “Jest thought that yeh might want t’ take his dinner t’ ‘im and use the chance t’ flirt some more.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively._

_It was remarkable. In a single instant Bilbo’s entire face became beet red, right to the tips of his ears, his eyes widened, and his mouth flapped with unintelligible sounds._

_“Well would yeh look at that, I made yeh speechless. Didn’t think it was possible.” He watched Bilbo closely. His suspicions were confirmed. Well, at least he could try to convince himself to give up now. Bilbo was clearly just as in love with Thorin as Thorin was with Bilbo. They were clearly meant for each other, and he stood no chance._

_“I have no- what are you- That’s ridiculous! I do_ not _flirt Bofur. Don’t know how. Besides with Thorin? I couldn’t possibly- there’s just no way- Oh you just stop laughing! You’re hopeless!”_

_If Bilbo were a cat all his hair would be on end and would probably resemble nothing but a big ball of furr. Was it his fault that he couldn’t stop laughing?_

_“Absolutely hopeless!” Bilbo huffed, his colour at last dying down. “I do_ not _flirt with Thorin!” Bilbo snapped. The flustered hobbit disappeared in an instant, replaced by steely eyes. “You shouldn’t joke about it! It’s really not funny.” The hobbit turned sharply on his heel and stalked off, leaving the soup unattended._

_Oh he’d done it now. Bofur’s face fell as Bilbo walked away. He’d really screwed up now. But he had confirmed it all. Bilbo was still denying it. It could mean that he still had a chance. Or it could mean that he was deluding himself._

_Still, as he watched Bilbo head toward the trees, Bofur couldn’t help but smile sadly to himself as he noted the direction._

_He could watch Bilbo walk away, he realized, as long as Bilbo was walking toward his own happiness._

~ * ~

There was no pity left in the world. Mahal had turned his back on him. He was either going through some kind of trial, or he had gone straight to hell. There was no other explanation. That could be the only reason for why he was forced to live through this all over again, when he had been _convinced_ that he was completely all right. Totally fine. Perfect even.

Oh sure, it made sense up to a certain point. Thorin was, after all, of Durin’s line; of course Mahal would smile on him. Bofur just wished he didn’t have to be a witness to quite so much of Thorin’s fortune. Really, when it came down to it, there was an entire mountain to make-out in, so was it really necessary for Thorin and Bilbo to have come _back here_ for their little display?

Bilbo’s high-pitched laugh had drawn everyone’s attention to the doorway. Bofur had been about to ask if they’d finally managed to settle things properly, but Thorin’s actions pretty much answered _that_ before the words could even reach Bofur’s lips.

There was absolutely no mercy anywhere anymore.

By Durin’s fucking beard! Was this strictly necessary? Bofur almost collapsed across the table and wept openly. But that would have given everything away, and he had worked so hard to make sure no one outside his family realized how much of an idiot he truly was – falling in love with the hobbit the king clearly wanted? Yeah, beyond a little foolish that was for sure.

And as if he needed any reminder about just how lost his cause was, there’s Thorin, kissing Bilbo like he’s a drowning man and the only air to be found was in Bilbo’s mouth. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Bilbo has to go and make soft little sounds, barely discernable above the wet suck of Throin’s lips crushing against and sliding over Bilbo’s. The pleased little whimper was _just_ loud enough for Bofur to hear, just loud enough to torture Bofur one last time, to show him exactly what he can never have.

Fuck.

He was at the point now where he’d thought he was ready for this. He’d had a year and more to prepare himself. As long as Bilbo was happy, that’s what he had to keep telling himself. Distance made the hurt sting a little less, and Bofur did want to see for himself that Bilbo was truly happy. Bofur had convinced himself that all he needed for his own happiness was just to see Bilbo smiling and laughing again.

That was the theory at least.

It was a little hard to hold on to that mentality when Bilbo and Thorin are making out _right in the doorway!_ Come on! Doesn’t he deserve a little bit of a break? Can’t they control themselves a little more? It’s not like Thorin’s chambers are _that_ far from here. It’s not like Bofur need _another_ way to have his heart shatter on him.

It’s honestly a miracle he’s still breathing.

And is that a fucking love bite!?! When had Thorin even had time- Oh for fucks sake! Bofur couldn’t be expected to take this anymore. Bilbo is standing there all flustered and dishevelled with a love bite and, as usual, just too amazing for words! Amazing in everything, except for the fact that it was Thorin with his arms around Bilbo, not Bofur. Nope. No. That was not his heart shattering again thank you very much, there wasn’t anything left of his heart to shatter any more. This just proved it.

Very pointedly, Bofur coughed, trying to remind the idiots where they are, and alert them to the fact that they do actually have an audience now, and they really need to cut it out and have a tiny bit of self-control before Bofur lost his sanity entirely.

“So you two got that all sorted then?” Bofur finally managed the words that had gotten caught in his throat when Thorin’s lips had met Bilbo’s.

It shouldn’t give him any satisfaction, but there was a little bit if he was being honest, when Bilbo peered around Thorin, his cheeks bright red and his eyes wide in shock and embarrassment.

“Oh no. No no no no.”

The company broke out into applause, and Bofur tried to let himself get caught up in the general mood, instead of his own quickly sinking one. 

He shot a wink at Bilbo, chuckling at Bilbo’s mortified whine. “So you are aware this time, Master Baggins, of what’s goin on? Or is that bruise just a friendly token?” He shouldn’t do it, his teasing sent another sharp pain through his heart, but that’s always been Bofur’s way. He could ignore it all, pretend it didn’t exist and cover it up with laughter.

He’d gotten very good at that.

Bilbo’s obvious embarrassment didn’t really help matters, especially not when Thorin was standing just behind him, a very satisfied smirk dancing across his lips.

Mahal please! Just a little bit of mercy! Was that too much to ask?

“Don’t wait for us.”

And of course. Of course. It shouldn’t come as a surprise. Bofur had thought for over a year that this had already happened, but being faced with the reality of it all again. There was no avoiding it now. This time for sure, no chance for misunderstandings here. Not with the way Thorin possessively pressed his hand to Bilbo’s back, and definitely not given the already rumpled appearance of both Thorin and Bilbo. This was really happening. They were going to leave and- and the thing that Bofur had thought was already fact would, in fact, become fact.

Which changed nothing really.

This had been Bofur’s reality for so long now, was he truly surprised? It took him a moment, but Bofur realized that no…no he wasn’t surprised and the sting that bit at his heart was...Well, it was more residual than anything. He’d already accepted he had no chance with Bilbo, and Bilbo was clearly happy.

Bofur joined in the cheering applause that followed Bilbo and Thorin out of the room.

~ * ~

_There had to be a limit to what one dwarf was expected to endure for the sake of love and friendship. If there wasn’t, then there certainly needed to be one. A standardized rule that applied to all dwarves everywhere, and when any one dwarrow reached that point, they could just say a word, or something, and then everyone would that the limit had been reached._

_Bofur would trade his soul for something like that right now. He’d trade all of his wealth! – not that he had much wealth to speak of. Durin’s Beard, he’d even give up ale if there were only a simple way to put an end to all this._

_Hadn’t he endured enough already?_

_“You and Bilbo…” Thorin had appeared practically out of nowhere on Bofur’s watch. It had been a good ten minutes of increasingly awkward silence before Thorin had said anything, and now it seemed ass if their fearless leader had somehow gotten himself stuck on repeat like a broken clock that’s gears didn’t quite work right and the second hand just kept ticking in place._

_Tic. Tic. Tic._

_“So…you and Bilbo…”_

_Bofur resisted the urge to roll his eyes._

_“Aye? What about us?” Bofur asked for what had to be the tenth time at least._

_“You and he seem to get along.”_

_Mahal have mercy! Just how was he expected to respond to that? Thorin was basically his rival in his love for Bilbo – though could they really be called rivals when Bilbo wasn’t even trying? Not really anyway. Sure he had decided to step aside for Thorin, he hadn’t told Bilbo how he felt like he had planned because it had only taken him one look at Thorin and Bilbo on the Carrack to realize two, slightly important, things. The first, that Thorin had fallen for Bilbo, which Bofur couldn’t rightly blame him for since he had done the same thing himself. The second: that he didn’t stand even the slightest chance against the noble Thorin Oakenshield._

_But realizing and accepting were two entirely different matters. Bofur hadn’t quite reached the acceptance stage yet._

_“Aye we do,” Bofur responded, also for the tenth time. “As yeh’ve noted before. Can’t help but think yeh’ve got something on yehr mind Thorin. Mind I’ve no realy reason fehr thinkin that, except of course, that this is the tenth time we’ve had this - well I wouldn’t even rightly call this a conversation but you get my meanin, in as many minutes. Don’t get me wrong mind, it’s a wonderful conversation, truly. Very stimulatin. But my watch is near half done now, and I was jest wonderin if yeh had a point. That’s all. ‘Course, if yeh want t’ continue on that’s fine too. Really, I’ve nothin’ better t’ do at the moment. Other than keep my eye out fehr orcs. But I’m sure we’ve lost-“_

_Thorin coughed, and Bofur stopped babbling. While Bofur was fairly certain that he didn’t actually want to know what this was all about, the pointless back and forth was more likely to kill him than whatever it was that Thorin wanted to discuss._

_“You and Bilbo seem to get along quite well.”_

_Mahal strike him down right now!_

_Bofur opened his mouth to respond, but Thorin held up a hand to stop him._

_“I was wondering if you might aid me in becoming friendlier with Master Baggins.”_

_If Thorin’s voice hadn’t been so earnest and his eyes so sincere, Bofur would have burst out laughing at the request. Of course, it would have been half hysterical laughter, and definitely edged with tears, but Bofur couldn’t laugh when Thorin looked practically jittery with his hands all clasped behind his back and his spine unnaturally straight and that dignified aura practically oozing off him as if to compensate for how awkward this all was._

_“Did yeh manage t’ piss him right off again?” Bofur asked with a knowing smirk. Honestly, if he hadn’t been in love with Bilbo himself, this situation would be endlessly amusing for Bofur. As it was, he had to wonder what he had ever done to piss off the gods so much that he deserved this._

_Playing match maker between the hobbit he loved, and the king he respected. It was like a really, really bad joke._

_Thorin let out an explosive sigh. “I just do not…I cannot understand. One moment we are talking and he seems to be in a good mood, and then the next he is shouting and waving his hands and telling me to sod off.”_

_Okay, Bofur couldn’t help but smile at that one. Thorin just looked so pitiful. An amused smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. While Bilbo did have a bit of an unpredictable temper, Thorin seemed to be particularly adept at bringing it out._

_“Have yeh tried not insultin him? Or his home? Or his customs? Or his appetite?” Bofur tried to ask mildly, but he couldn’t quite keep the laughter entirely out of his voice. “I find it easiest t’ get along with him when we’re talkin bout pipeweed or our favourite memories of home. And he’s especially nice when I don’t slip in barbs about how different he is from the rest of us. Crazy as it sounds, he really seems t’ like it when I compliment him and don’t follow it up with an insult.”_

_Bofur tried to keep his eyes focused forward, he really did love his head where it was on his shoulders. He could imagine Thorin’s look, could feel Thorin’s eyes boring into the side of his head. No doubt Thorin had a wonderfully ridiculous stunned look on his face. That or murderous rage. Either way, Thorin’s expression was pretty much guaranteed to be golden. Besides, Thorin couldn’t get his help if he killed him now._

_There was no way he could resist temptation._

_Bofur snuck a look out of the corner of his eye, and it was honestly better than he could have ever expected._

_Thorin was staring at him, his mouth slightly open, and it looked like someone had smacked him upside the head with a very thick board. Well he’d tried, but it was certainly worth it._

_“That’s jest what I’ve noticed mind,” Bofur continued blandly, turning his eyes forward again with a little chuckle. “If yeh truly want my advice Thorin, I’d try loosenin up a bit around him. Don’t worry, no one’s goin’ t’ die if yeh laugh at one o’ his jokes, or try a joke out yehrself. Course, that’s jest one dwarf’s opinion.”_

_Silence fell again. At least this time it wasn’t so awkward, though Bofur really wished that Thorin would either say something or leave. Not that he minded Thorin’s company, especially since it meant that Thorin wasn’t in Bilbo’s company, but if he stayed, Bofur feared he’d ask him more questions about winning Bilbo over, and he wasn’t sure he could handle that._

_“I-”_

_“Ah, so yeh can still speak! Good t’ see I didn’t shock yeh dumb with my radical ideas.”_

_Glancing out of the corner of his eyes, Bofur caught Thorin shooting him an exasperated look._

_“Yes well, I understand. I shall take your words under advisement.”_

_There was no way he could help himself, Bofur snorted with barely suppressed laughter. “Advisement, oh sure. Jest go and talk t’ the lad and try t’ keep yehr head out of yehr arse long enough t’ have a proper conversation.”_

_If Thorin Oakenshield was the type of dwarf that spluttered, Bofur was fairly certain he’d be spluttering now. He may be pushing it a bit, but hey, he was going to enjoy this while he could. “Now off with yeh, yeh’re distractin me from my watch.”_

_Thorin turned, still stunned, and walked a few paces away before pausing and glancing over his shoulder at Bofur. “Thank you Bofur,” he said softly._

_“My pleasure,” Bofur lied through his teeth. He watched Thorin walk back toward camp, and cursed himself for the fool he was._

~ * ~

A plan had been hatched to separate the king and their returned burglar. There was only so long that the running of Erebor could be left out of Thorin’s hands. The time limit had expired, and their king was required to resume his duties now that it was painfully obvious that Bilbo had no intention of just up and disappearing again.

He had made sure that he wasn’t on guard duty at the time – let Bifur and Dwalin handle their head strong king – he had other things to attend to. Things like “kidnapping” Bilbo and dragging him off for a much needed talk.

Bofur had done his best to avoid the royal wing as much as possible since Bilbo’s return. Thorin and Bilbo hadn’t left the king’s chambers since that first night. Thorin had poked his head out and demanded food be brought at regular intervals, and Bofur had done his best to make sure that he wasn’t on duty for the actual  _delivering_  of the food after ‘the incident’.

There was only so much his poor heart could take.

He waited until he was sure Bilbo had had enough time to dress, and then hooked his arm around the hobbit’s shoulders. “Fancy a smoke?” he asked with a wink, shaking a pouch of tobacco with his free hand.

They’d gone up onto the slopes of Erebor. Using stones for seats, they faced the city of Dale. It was still in the process of being restored to its former glory, but it was more than habitable now.  “So yeh really didn’t know?” Bofur asked with a side long look as they both filled their pipes with tobacco and lit them.

“No I did not know,” Bilbo responded, annoyance in his voice as he fussed with lighting his pipe. “I had absolutely no idea.”

“I don’t believe yeh.” Bofur puffed on his pipe, his eyes fixed on Bilbo. He honestly couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that Bilbo could have missed all of Thorin’s outrageous flirting, his frankly embarrassing displays of affection. Not to mention Bilbo’s own outrageous flirting _back_  at the king. The two had obviously had some kind of chemistry, there was no denying that. Then there was that night in Lake Town…which apparently hadn’t happened.

He took a deep breath of his tobacco, letting the weed calm his nerves. He needed to go about this carefully. There was no sense in letting the cat out of the bag at this stage.

Bilbo muttered under his breath. “Well you had better. I honestly had no idea. How was I even supposed to know?”

Bofur shook his head sorrowfully. “Honestly I do not believe it. Refuse to. How could you  _not_ know?!” He flung his arms out, nearly dropping his pipe in his attempts to emphasize just how mind-blowing he found Bilbo’s ignorance. Reaching out, he fumbled for his pipe, nearly falling off his rock as he righted himself, his hat flopping about and adding to his dramatic effect. Fixing his eyes on Bilbo as he settled again, he crossed his arms, making it clear he wanted some kind of explanation.

“Alright.” Bilbo flapped his hand at Bofur. “Alright enough already,” the hobbit grumbled as he shifted his pipe between his teeth and rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard quite enough about how Thorin was very obvious and-”

“Thorin?!” He couldn’t help but interrupt, shaking his head again. He knew for a fact that Bilbo had been harbouring feelings for the king long before Lake Town. Bofur had just assumed that it was Bilbo’s way of responding to, and acknowledging, Thorin’s advances. It was the reason why he had tried so hard to distance himself from his own feelings. He had been convinced that the attraction between Thorin and Bilbo was mutual, and there was no use trying to force himself between them. “Thorin?” he scoffed, puffing on his pipe scornfully. “I ain’t talkin’ about Thorin! No sir. True enough, Thorin was embarrassingly plain, and so besotted that it was a pain to watch at times. An entertainin’ pain,” he grinned with a small laugh. “But there is only so much one can watch of their king stumblin’ over his own boots. No. I ain’t talkin’ bout Thorin.”

Levelling a meaningful stare in Bilbo’s direction, Bofur raised his brows as he brought his pipe back to his lips. Bilbo was squinting at him, a frown creasing his brow as he clearly tried to puzzle through what Bofur had just said. Bofur just grinned, leaning back slightly as he waited for an answer. He’d tried to confront Bilbo about this once before, and had been ignored for two days for his pains.

“What do you mean?” Bilbo asked suspiciously.

“I meeaan,” Bofur drew out the word, holding Bilbo’s eyes with his own. “Yehr flirtin. Constant flirtin’ by the end. Sure, yeh were blinder’n a fish in a cave at the start.” He shrugged, releasing Bilbo’s eyes. “Which was its own entertainment,” he continued, now lying through his teeth. It had entertained the others a fair bit, but Bofur hadn’t quite known how to handle it. Still didn’t truth be told. It was an awkward position to be in, in love with his best friend who was in love with his king. Somehow he had ended up in the strange position of matchmaker between the two of them. As long as Bilbo was happy, that was what he had told himself. “But yeh  _were_  flirtin’ harder than a barmaid tryin’ ta get tips.”

Bofur leaned away in case Bilbo turned on him for that comment. He needn’t have worried. Apparently his words had so surprised his friend that Bilbo nearly choked on his own pipe. Half reaching out to pat the hobbit’s back – after all it hadn’t been his intention to  _choke_  the poor lad – he pulled his hand back as Bilbo managed a wheezing exclamation. “Flirting?! Flirting! You’re calling me a flirt? I don’t know how to flirt!”

Well that was a bald faced lie if ever there was one. Bilbo was far too good at flirting in Bofur’s opinion. “Oh aye?” Somehow he managed to hold on to his composure. If he pretended he was talking with Bombur instead of the hobbit he was in love with- well that made it easier. A crooked smile spread across his lips as he took a lazy draw from his pipe. Letting the smoke settle him again, he blew out a ring. “Could’ve fooled me.” Bofur tried his hardest for non-chalance. “What with the little grins.” Grins he had tried to get for himself, but Bilbo’s grins at the king- well those had only appeared  _for_  Thorin. “Banterin’ in Iglishmek.” That plan had certainly backfired. “Banterin’ in general really, makin’ faces at each other, always bringin’ him food…”

If there was ever an indication that a hobbit was sweet on someone, surely it would have to do with the sharing of food.

Bofur paused as he saw red in Bilbo’s cheeks spread up toward the points of his ears. “I don’t flirt,” Bilbo sniffed haughtily.

Oh ho, so he was  _still_  in denial? Seemed rather pointless with the  _activities_  of the past week, and the nuptials already being arranged. “Oh, I do stand corrected now,” he drawled. It was far too easy to fall back into bantering with Bilbo, despite the topic of conversation. “Oh Consort of Erebor,” he with mock respect as a smirk tugged at his lips. Whipping off his hat, he bowed elaborately to Bilbo from his perch on his boulder, making sure to inch out of smacking range.

Unfortunately he hadn’t factored in kicking distance. “Stop that you lunk! I’m no Consort for a while yet.”

“Oi!” Bofur exclaimed, rubbing his shin good naturedly. He couldn’t help but be a bit amused at Bilbo’s annoyed embarrassment.

His amusement was short lived. As he straightened, he saw Bilbo fingering the braid behind his ear. Bofur’s heart made an attempt at a panged twinge, but there was so little left of it Bofur couldn’t feel much more than a distant ache. He had no business pining over someone who was so clearly in love, and lucky enough to have his love returned. Still he had to avert his gaze as Bilbo rolled the engraved bead between his fingers, light breaking on the jewels that Thorin had so lovingly set.

This was fine. It should be completely fine.

He wasn’t going to try and puzzle out what that little smile and blush meant. Honestly, Bofur had a feeling he already knew what Bilbo was remembering, and he had no desire to dwell on it. No matter how his heart quickened at the thought of that smile turned in his direction…

A soft scoff escaped him, a weak attempt to break the mood, diffuse the tension that only he felt- Silence fell over them as Bofur lost the ability to come up with anything to say. He was working to keep the dullness on the pain. He had absolutely no right holding onto his feelings, hadn’t he sworn over three dozen times that he was going to let this go?

For a bit both Bofur and Bilbo were content to sit in the silence. Puffing away on their pipes as they looked out at the Arda winding away into the distance, the peace could almost be said to be companionable. It probably was on Bilbo’s part, but Bofur couldn’t stop his thoughts.

At last he can hold it in no longer. “Yeh couldn’t say goodbye?” His voice is quiet in the silence that had fallen between them, more subdued than he had ever been in Bilbo’s presence before. The words are out of his mouth almost before he realizes he’s going to say them.  They had to be said though. The doubts, the worry and fear had been niggling at him since he had first seen that note.

Wasn’t he worthy of a goodbye at the very least?

“Bofur…”

Bofur waited, at last turning his eyes to Bilbo again, his heart and gaze heavy. “Couldn’t even mention me at all? Not even a line in that damned bloody-” His voice cracked, forcing him to stop. Unknowingly his hands had clenched into fists, tightening around his pipe. That damned note. That fucking note that he’d had to read out to everyone.

Words on a page. An excuse, and a feeble one at that, that’s all that note had been. Oh he understood the need for distance, but running away was something entirely different. That was the cowards way out- Bilbo could have asked for help, for clarification, and any of them would have gladly given it to him.

“I didn’t…I’m sorry. I truly am. I did think of you, but then I wasn’t…I wasn’t thinking right. I wasn’t thinking at all. I felt dreadful the whole way back for it. I knew it wasn’t fair to everyone.”

Bofur swallowed hard around the lump that had risen in his throat. Every fibre of him wanted to go over to Bilbo as the hobbit looked away, staring down at his feet. He should, Bofur knew, he should go over there, sling and arm around his shoulder, try to make him smile and continue pretending that everything was all right. That everything was fine and that he didn’t feel as hurt as he felt.

“Especially not to you.”

The last words are so quiet Bofur almost didn’t catch them.

This wasn’t fair. This was just plain unfair. Bilbo couldn’t know the effect his words had on Bofur – he had worked hard to make sure Bilbo would never know – but they rocked through him like a physical blow to his heart. Those words told him that he held a special place in Bilbo’s heart. A special place but- not as special as Thorin.

Perhaps Bilbo did love him, but it was the love of friendship. He should be satisfied with that but it was so close to what he wanted, what he yearned for…If he had made his affections known earlier would he now hold the place that Thorin did?

“What in Durin’s name happened?” He couldn’t stand the tension in himself anymore. If he had something else to focus on…He knows his voice is still subdued, there was only so much pretending he could do. At least it hadn’t broken this time, though he was shattering inside, his eyes burning with tears that he would never shed. He hadn’t lost anything; he’d never had anything to lose. “Yehr right, that wasn’t like you at all. Thorin would hardly talk to anyone about it. Not that we didn’t try ta make him mind. He seemed convinced he ran yeh off with his sickness but…” Bofur had known from the very beginning that couldn’t possibly be the case. “I saw yeh. I saw yeh wasting away before he woke up. We, all of us, were near as worried for you as we was for him!”

“I panicked…I suppose.” Though he says the words, Bilbo doesn’t even seem sure of them himself. “You already know now that I didn’t know about Thorin’s feelings, the mithril, all that. I barely knew what I felt. I knew there was something more with him but it just…well it frightened me I guess. Convincing myself I was harmlessly infatuated with Thorin the Hero, Dwarf King, was easier than admitting that I was very much in love with Thorin the…just Thorin.”

Bofur inhaled sharply, trying to catch his breath as the pain he had thought finally dulled lanced through him again at those words. If Bilbo had asked him, Bofur would have told the hobbit that he was beyond infatuated. Then again had he known- had he guessed that Bilbo thought it was only an infatuation would he have tried to press his advantage? He liked to think he was better than that but- But watching the person he loved, and the king he had sworn loyalty to falling in love had hurt him in ways he hadn’t thought possible. If he’d seen even a chance of stopping that, a possibility that he might be with Bilbo…could he honestly tell himself that he wouldn’t have taken it?

Realizing Bilbo had heard his involuntary break in composure, Bofur quickly shook his head and waved for Bilbo to go on, not trusting himself to speak.

“So…that’s where I was, and nearly worn out of my mind after everything that had gone on and then Thorin possibly dying…so I was just…already not in the best frame of mind, you could say. Then Thorin woke up a little, and the fever deluded fool starts just-“

Bofur watched as Bilbo broke off, a near hysteric laugh falling into the silence as he scrubbed a hand over his face. This was the part that Bofur didn’t know, that he’d only been able to guess at for the past months. This was what Thorin had done to make Bilbo hide from them all and then run away without a backward glance.

Shaking his head, Bilbo continued. “He just starts babbling apologies about the wall, about how he had no right to call me betrothed. Babbling on and on while this was the first I’d heard of it!”

Eyebrows rising higher with every sentence spoken, Bofur stared at Bilbo with wide eyed disbelief. Thorin had done that? Now he understood a bit better why that might have freaked Bilbo out. Really, this was a little absurd. Did all the ballads and legends have two grand idiots as the leads? He wondered how any of them had made it to their happy endings.

“And he kept doing it!” Biblo’s voice lifted as his hands flew up to illustrate the mess that Thorin had created for himself. “Kept waking up long enough to blather some romantic nonsense that I never thought to prepare for. He begged me to stay. The delirious fool even bloody kissed me at one point! Though it was a shoddy kiss and I don’t think he remembered it at all! And after that I…well I hid for a bit, had to keep my head sorted.”

Bofur nodded at that, his eyes narrowing as he put all the pieces together in his mind. Well that explained…a lot. If they hadn’t done anything in Lake Town then that- That would have been the first time that Thorin and Bilbo had kissed, and Thorin feverish at that. No wonder Bilbo had been impossible to find for days. It explained why he had been so eager to escape even after Bofur had cornered him in the kitchen.

Was that what he had meant to ask Bofur that night? Had he been on the verge of finally asking for some clarification? Cursing inwardly, Bofur remained silent. Bofur could feel Bilbo’s eyes on him again, Bilbo’s gaze uneasy and uncertain. No doubt Bilbo was trying to figure out why he was being so silent. Bofur still did not trust himself to speak.

“So he woke up, really woke up.” Bilbo continued at last. “And I went in there thinking…I don’t know really. I was angry, panicked, all out of my own head by that point. I just wanted an explanation, something that made sense. And he starts…saying how he meant it. How he wanted me to stay, wanted to marry me, had wanted to for quite some time. And for so long he was this unreachable safe fantasy then all of a sudden he’s holding my hand, calling me…oh what was it? Nablisomething.”

“Naiblil'âmralê.” He cleared his throat as he spoke up at last. An unreachable fantasy? He knew how that was, could only guess at how Bilbo felt to have that actually offered to him. How would he feel to have Bilbo suddenly within his grasp? To be able to hold on to what he had tried, and failed, to convince himself was just a useless fantasy?  “Means ‘bound together in love’. It’s our word for betrothal or marriage.” The explanation rolls off his tongue as his heart does a strange dance in his chest.

He is fairly certain he can’t take much more of this. It was nice to finally have an explanation, to understand – oh how he understood, he understood far too well – why Bilbo had had to leave.

“Seems like it holds true for yeh.” Somehow he managed to force a smile to his face, to lighten his voice into a semblance of its normal buoyancy. “Half the time we were calling yeh livin’ legends yeh know. Ori wants me ta help him write a ballad.”

There, it was easier to grin when Bilbo got flustered, spluttering about dwarven nonsense.

“’The Burglar and His King’ we were thinkin’ of callin’ it.” The smirk came easier now.

Lifting his pipe back up to his lips, Bofur took a long draw as Bilbo’s cheeks reddened.

He knew now, everything. It all made sense. Maybe now he could accept it all. Maybe now he could take the dear friendship that was offered to him and be content with that.

Maybe now everything would go back to normal.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is it! The end at last! Well, except for a little one shot I'm going to finish off for this verse.  
> I had so much fun writing this, and I can't thank everyone enough for reading, commenting and leaving kudos, especially those kudos that I've gotten in the past couple weeks, it really helped me power through and finally finish this.
> 
> I'd like to give a huge shout out to Lindzzz for both writing the fic that inspired this one, and for encouraging me every step of the way!
> 
> Thanks again to everyone! I hope you enjoyed the end.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  * All the lyrics a Tolkein's own. Trust me I can't write songs.   
> 


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